


Covenant - Death's Grey Land

by shadowwalker213



Series: Covenant [1]
Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-03-05 10:40:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 89,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18826999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowwalker213/pseuds/shadowwalker213
Summary: Crossover with the movie "Ruckus".





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of epic length "Covenant", now presented as the first story in the series.

Sometimes even to live is an act of courage. - Lucius Annaeus Seneca

 **July 1976**  
  
Hannibal stood outside the door, slowly rolling the cigar between thumb and fingers. He wished he dared step outside long enough for just a few, relaxing puffs. But he couldn't, wouldn't. Not while the man he considered practically a son lay on the other side of that door, dying.  
  
He glanced nervously up and down the hallway. He'd been very careful forging the admittance papers to the hospital, but that didn't mean they wouldn't be recognized if they weren't careful. To be caught now, after all this time...No, not after all they'd gone through. All he'd gone through. The treatments...  
  
Not that they had done any good. Maybe added a couple of months, no more than that. And once again, it was their own government that had stabbed them in the back.  
  
Agent Orange.  
  
Hannibal straightened when he saw BA and Murdock hurrying down the hall, the urgency now due to the patient's insistence that he had something he had to tell them. Something he had to get off his chest. BA had immediately gone for Murdock, and now the three men nodded solemnly to each other before stepping into the room.  
  
They sat close to the bed; it was hard for him to speak above a whisper. He looked up at each one in turn, as if making sure they were all really there. Hannibal reached over and took his hand, squeezing softly.  
  
"Go ahead, Kid."  
  
**March 1969**  
  
Normally they would be at the Delta Club, but the subject of discussion, a certain lieutenant, had walked into the club only moments before. The officers were now seated around the conference room in the headquarters building, and their discussion grew more heated with the amount of beer consumed. The lieutenant's CO, Colonel Wrenn, sat at the far end of the table, listening quietly. Hannibal perched on a desk, somewhat apart from the others, also listening. Watching.  
  
"He's got to have an accomplice. He doesn't have clearance for that information." Major Clemens angrily picked at the label on his beer bottle and glared at the others.  
  
"C-day info gets out all the time, security or not. Hell, half the camp knows before I do!" Hannibal smiled wryly.  
  
"Yeah, but this guy - Hannibal, this guy is making a regular business out of changing MPCs. And that isn't the only thing he's dealing in."  
  
"Drugs?"  
  
"Oh, well, I don't know about that." The major almost physically stepped back, with a quick look at Colonel Wrenn. "But cigarettes, booze, meat...the guy's got a handle on everything that pays big on the black market, and he uses that to squeeze even more out of the MPCs."  
  
Wrenn casually lit a cigarette while studiously ignoring the major.  
  
"But how do you know it's Peck?"  
  
"Hannibal, that kid's living better than a lot of us are! No way in bloody damn hell he can afford that stuff on his pay. A freakin' Cadillac sitting outside his house - house, mind you, not some damn hootch. Tell me how he paid for that!"  
  
"So why hasn't he been charged?"  
  
"Because he's too fucking smart, that's why. Nobody can prove that he's doing it. He's working with so damn many people around here...hell! By the time we find one, he's moved on to somebody else, and it comes down to his word against some gook's."  
  
More beer was handed around, and the talk turned to schemes for catching Peck red-handed. Hannibal decided he had finally had enough. He said his goodnights and headed out into the humid night air. Hot as it was, Hannibal thought it was still cooler than in with all that 'hot air'. He pulled a cigar from his pocket, lit it, and was about to start a leisurely walk to his quarters when he was joined by Colonel Wrenn.  
  
"You were pretty quiet in there, Jim. Had your eye on this guy, too?"  
  
"No reason to. Those guys are full of shit, you know that."  
  
"Sounds like more than that."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Hannibal. He doesn't cut through red tape - he goes around it. Gets my guys what they need and when they need it. So he does have his uses."  
  
"He keeps generating attention, he won't be much use to anyone. Could cause a lot of problems."  
  
Wrenn looked at Hannibal, suddenly smiling. "Like I said, don't worry about it. I know how to deal with guys like Peck. And I know how to deal with...problems." With a nod, the colonel stepped out into the darkness.  
  
Hannibal suddenly felt uncomfortable. He didn't like that smile, or the implications it held for Peck, even though he didn't know the guy.  
  
Not yet.  
  
It was late, and other than the sentries and medical staff, there were few people up and about. Hannibal didn't usually like being out at this time; the sentries, never quite trusting the night, were a little too quick with both the trigger and the rifle butt. Seemed like they always put the greenest guys on guard duty - usual military thinking.  
  
The noise from the now bustling Delta Club was just fading into the background when Hannibal caught the soft hiss of voices coming from behind the hootches. His cigar went in the mud as his hand automatically went for his sidearm, and he shook his head, chagrined. Talk about green...  
  
He stepped cautiously off the pathway, slowing to a stop as he realized the voices were speaking Vietnamese.  
  
And one had an American accent.  
  
He listened carefully. He couldn't make out everything that was said, but it was clear the two men were setting up a meeting of some kind. Then he heard two words that made things perfectly clear.  
  
American greenbacks.  
  
He had no doubts as to what was transpiring. The very thing his fellow officers had been arguing about in the officers' tent - the complicated money trade. Soldiers would trade their military currency to the locals, sometimes for as much as three times what it was worth. The locals, who couldn't actually use the MPCs, would then trade them back to other soldiers for real American money, again at a rate higher than the military would pay out. Both sides ended up happy - the locals now had money they could actually use, and the soldiers had more spending money than they'd get exchanging through the Army. The only problem, of course, was that it was illegal.  
  
Hannibal hesitated. He could step in now and end the deal, take the soldier into custody and scare off his contact. There were only two issues with that. One, the locals - and many soldiers - took these transactions very seriously, and God only knew what either of these guys was carrying. Hannibal couldn't see any reason to get either man injured. The second issue was more convincing - he didn't really have a problem with the exchange.  
  
He did want to find out who the soldier was, though. At least whether or not it was someone under his command. With his rep, the last thing he needed was one of his guys brought up on charges. Again.  
  
He stood perfectly still, waiting for the conversation to end, catching a few more details. He didn't know if he'd need the info, but it was always useful to have an ace in the hole. He didn't know how long the two had already been there, but it was only a couple minutes before they finished their discussion and parted. The local disappeared into the darkness, and the soldier slipped quietly away in the opposite direction.  
  
Hannibal followed the soldier.  
  
They made two more stops. Each time the soldier waited behind a hootch, and within moments another soldier would step around to meet him. Each time the conversation lasted only a couple of minutes and then the "dealer" was on his way again. Unfortunately, Hannibal wasn't able to get close enough to listen in on these meetings, but he didn't need to. If this was who he thought it was, he did indeed have a thriving business going.  
  
After meeting with the last man, the soldier moved more casually, apparently no longer worried about being seen. He moved to the front of the hootches and calmly lit a cigarette before moving down the long path. Hannibal watched from the shadows as he stopped at the sentry post and chatted with the guard, laughing at some joke, and then moved on past the perimeter toward the village.  
  
Hannibal waited a moment, not wanting his own passage from the camp to be noticed by the man ahead of him. The way the guy was strolling along it wouldn't be hard to catch up with him. If the guards thought it strange that Colonel Smith was leaving the camp at that time of night, they didn't question him. He smiled to himself. No one questions a 'legend'.  
  
It didn't surprise him when his man eventually walked up to a small house just off the main road. As the man unlocked the door, Hannibal peered around the dark street. Four houses down, the street took a sharp turn to the right; the neighboring houses were close in, with numerous pathways leading off the street into deeper darkness. The infamous Cadillac sat at the back of the house, facing a maze of streets and alleyways. Hannibal nodded his head. The military may know where Peck lived, but they wouldn't easily catch him if he knew they were coming. And Hannibal didn't doubt that somehow, Peck would know.  
  
He waited in the darkness until he saw a light at the back of the house, then he stepped up to the door and rapped hard. He waited only a moment before pounding again. Loud. Before he could raise his fist a third time, he felt the wrong end of a gun stuck in his side.  
  
"Kinda late for visitors, buddy."  
  
"Kinda dark for my birds to shine - buddy."  
  
A split second hesitation and the barrel came away from his side.  
  
"Sorry, sir, you're right - it is too dark to see who's who. Would you like to come inside?"  
  
Hannibal smiled to himself. The kid was good - an apology, a defense, and an olive branch, all in one smooth delivery. He was more than happy to accept the invitation - he wanted to see what else this guy would throw at him.  
  
Based on what his friends had said earlier, Hannibal expected to see a fair amount of creature comforts when he walked in the door. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or not to see an old couch and a teetering coffee table facing the door. A white sheet formed a wall behind them, not quite blocking a view of an old wrought iron bed. He turned and smiled at the lieutenant.  
  
"Cozy."  
  
"I don't need much. Just...privacy. Sir." He smiled slightly, and Hannibal noted it. Cocky, or just confident? "Have a seat, Colonel." He motioned to the couch while pulling two beers from a crate by the wall. He handed one to Hannibal. "The real stuff, as a peace offering. I really didn't know it was you, sir. I wouldn't have pulled the gun if I had."  
  
Hannibal smiled to himself. The kid knew all the tricks, all right.  
  
"So, Colonel Smith, are you here to arrest me, or do business with me?"  
  
Hannibal, beer half-way to his lips, looked up at him. "You cut right to the chase."  
  
"You followed me, Colonel. People don't usually do that for social reasons."  
  
This time Hannibal allowed himself a long swallow before responding. Just how long had Peck known he was being followed? And he knew who Hannibal was...did he also know where Hannibal's quarters were?  
  
"Maybe you should tell me what you want first, Lieutenant. Or maybe I already know. You're getting tired of it. It's routine now, isn't it? The only excitement left is pushing the stakes higher, going for more and more deals, knowing it's drawing attention, doing it anyway. The money doesn't matter any more. It's pushing the envelope, seeing how far you can go without getting caught.  
  
"But you knew you'd get caught eventually. You knew the Army was getting fed up, and you knew that was making some people nervous." Hannibal was gratified to see the split-second look of surprise. He pressed. "You knew you had to make plans for that." Hannibal stopped as Peck smiled softly. "Damn it, you knew you were going to get caught, so the trick was to get caught by the right person!"  
  
The smile broadened to a grin. "Bingo."  
  
Hannibal shook his head. "You didn't know it was me at first. Going through those...transactions was a bit reckless."  
  
"Not really. Both those guys had legitimate business to discuss." Hannibal could swear there was a twinkle in those eyes.  
  
"At night?"  
  
"Only time they could catch me. I'm a busy man."  
  
"The local?"  
  
"Family problem having to do with a soldier. Have to be discreet in these matters, you know."  
  
"Nice and innocent, huh? And what made you think I'd want to 'do business' with you?"  
  
"It would be a case of mutual benefit, Colonel. You think I'm good with the black market, you should see me with the Army supply chain."  
  
"I have a supply officer."  
  
"Yeah, who takes twice as long to get you half as much as you need. I've made his acquaintance. Give me a week, you'll need a good replacement."  
  
Hannibal looked at him, suspiciously. Peck practically glared back.  
  
"Nothing like that, Colonel. He's a good kid, but he doesn't belong out here. He'll be a stateside desk jockey in a week. You just give me the word."  
  
"I can't authorize a transfer out of here."  
  
"You don't need to." He held up his hand. "I'll make sure you have what you need, when you need it, and without screwing over some other combat unit. You just don't ask how I do it. That's the deal."  
  
"You're making terms with the guy that could put you away?"  
  
"No, I'm putting forth an offer that an astute man would realize is golden."  
  
Hannibal stared at him for a quick moment. "Golden, huh?" Cocky little bastard, but...he was right about the clerk. And Wrenn had said he was good with supplies. "You'd have to give up this place. My guys stay together."  
  
"I can live with that."  
  
"And you give up the Caddy."  
  
"I don't see any reason to do that."  
  
"It attracts too much attention. Get rid of it."  
  
The lieutenant sighed. "If you knew what it took to..." Hannibal stood up. "Okay, okay! I'll dump the car."  
  
"Third, you work strictly under my direction. No independent dealing."  
  
"Colonel, come on! That's what made America great - the entrepreneurial spirit! Where would we be today if..."  
  
"That's the deal, Lieutenant."  
  
Peck shook his head. "You drive a hard bargain, Colonel, but fine. Only company business."  
  
Hannibal looked at him suspiciously. "You agreed awfully quick to having your empire dismantled."  
  
"Well, actually, I won't have time for that. I have something else brewing - completely legal."  
  
"Completely?"  
  
"Mostly."  
  
"And that would be?"  
  
"An Officer's Club with a little more... ambiance. I mean, after all, I'll probably be spending more time there now."  
  
Hannibal couldn't help but chuckle. "All right, Lieutenant. Make it happen. I want to see just how 'golden' you are." Shaking his head, he stood and moved to the door, his host following him out to the dark street. Then, thinking of Wrenn, he turned and looked sternly at his soon-to-be lieutenant.  
  
"Just remember, kid, you've made some enemies, and they aren't going to forgive and forget. So I wouldn't get too cocky."  
  
"Even under the wing of the famous Hannibal Smith?"  
  
There was just a hint of sarcasm in the tone and Hannibal didn't like it. " 'The man who carries a cat by the tail learns something that can be learned in no other way'. Mark Twain said that. A very wise man."  
  
"It's something to think about, all right." Peck gave him a cynical smile, and Hannibal lit a cigar, watching this new man of his walk casually away.  
  
"It certainly is, Lieutenant. It certainly is..."  
  
**July 1976**  
  
"I always admired you. Did you know that, Hannibal? Always."  
  
Hannibal smiled quickly before looking down at the polished floor of the hospital room. Too polished.  
  
He'd never been comfortable with this, helping soldiers pass on. Not in Korea, not in Nam. Especially not now, when it was one of his own. If they had time, if they knew it was coming, if they could, they wanted to make those last hours, last minutes, to count for something. As if their whole life had collapsed down to those last few words. It wasn't right, somehow, for men to think that way.  
  
"Hannibal?" The voice was soft, a bit raspy. But strong. Surprisingly so.  
  
"Yeah, kid, I know. I..."  
  
"That's why I did it. I've been ashamed of it, every day, ever since. But I wanted you to understand why. It wasn't him. I had nothing against him."  
  
Hannibal straightened in his chair, glancing quickly at BA and Murdock, seated on the other side of the bed. They looked as confused as he was.  
  
"What do you mean, Wiley? Nothing against who?"  
  
"Face..."  



	2. Chapter 2

**March 1969**  
  
For the first couple of days after his meeting with the 'entrepreneur', Hannibal kept quiet. He knew how hard it was to get anyone sent stateside early. Next to impossible. If this guy could pull that off, Hannibal knew he had a winner. At least, as far as keeping his team well supplied. And when it could take weeks just to get a new poncho liner, he needed someone who could "expedite" matters. But if Peck was just blowing hot air, well, Hannibal didn't need any more headaches.  
  
Peck had promised within a week, and on the fifth day Harris, the supply clerk, came rushing into Hannibal's office, waving a sheet of paper. Harris was sputtering something about a transfer, wanting to know why Hannibal had done it, worried the colonel was unhappy with his performance, but at the same time, Hannibal could see he was more than happy about getting out of the war zone. Hannibal gave him assurances, swore he'd had nothing to do with getting the transfer put through, and wished him the best of luck. Harris left, happy, excited, and still confused.  
  
Later that same afternoon, Colonel Wrenn came into the office, stared hard at Hannibal and then walked out. Hannibal realized then he'd made one big mistake in his dealings with Peck.  
  
He'd forgotten that Wrenn was a greedy man.  
  
*****  
  
It took him all of ten minutes to pack up his stuff. The stuff he wanted to keep, anyway. He left the half-case of real beer; his neighbors had been good to him, after all. He did look regretfully at the bed. The cots on base couldn't come anywhere near the comfort of that.  
  
For a moment, as he took a last look around his house, he had second thoughts. Wrenn had given him a lot of freedom, privacy. That meant a lot more to him than the money he'd been sending stateside. A lot more. He knew Smith wouldn't allow that. He might be unconventional, but he was still a lifer. His team came first for him, and he expected the same of every member of that team.  
  
Peck wasn't interested in the one-for-all, all-for-one bit. He did his job in the field and did it well. After all, fucking up out there meant putting his own life at stake, from one side or the other. But back here, the only team he was concerned about was "me, myself, and I".  
  
He shoved the duffle into the back seat of the Caddy. He was leaving that at the base gates for the new owner. He'd given the guy a real good deal on it; he considered it an investment. The buyer had high family connections in the government. Both Saigon and Hanoi.  
  
He smiled. Yep, me, myself and I.  
  
It was the only team that had never let him down.  
  
*****  
  
The news about Harris was taken well by the rest of the team. Surprise, a little good-natured envy, but everyone wanted to go home and didn't begrudge Harris the unexpected opportunity.  
  
Then Hannibal told them who the replacement would be.  
  
Ray just sat, waiting for an explanation. Typical reaction for Ray. What counted was what he did after that. If he just nodded and went back to what he'd been doing, then Hannibal would know he was okay with it. Maybe not happy, but okay. If he decided to go get in some target practice, well...  
  
Then there was Wiley. A good kid, friendly, smart - and very good friends with Harris. If Wiley put in the requisitions, things usually got done a little faster. He was proud of having that kind of influence. And he was not happy about this. The stick he'd been whittling was now being splintered.  
  
BA was glaring at him. Nothing new there. You had to judge his mood by how deep the glare. And this one was deep. Real deep. Pretty obvious that he'd heard about this guy, all right. And with BA's strict upbringing, Hannibal had known as soon as he'd left Peck's place that BA was going to be a problem. The question was how big a problem.  
  
"Look, guys, so he hasn't got a sterling rep - but that's here, not out in the boonies. I did some checking up, and the guy's solid out there. And if he's half as good with our supplies as he is...at other things, he'll be an asset. So we give him the same chance we give anyone, got it?"  
  
Now he would see.  
  
Ray looked at the ground for a few minutes before standing, and Hannibal felt a sinking feeling. Ray was senior man, and the guys tended to follow his lead. Now he stepped to the door and looked around, pulling out a cigarette. He lit it casually before looking back at Hannibal.  
  
"Well, guess I better make sure the club has plenty of booze for Harris' shindig." Ray nodded and walked out. Not quite a rousing endorsement of Hannibal's decision, but he allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief before looking at the other two.  
  
"BA?"  
  
His sergeant was more blunt. "You gotta be out of your mind, Hannibal. Dude's gonna be nothin but trouble."  
  
"His wheeling and dealing with the locals is over, BA. So's anything that's not connected with us."  
  
"Yeah, right." BA shrugged. "All right. You say he's okay out there, we'll see. But don't expect me to cover his ass on base. He stiff the wrong guy, it's his fight."  
  
"Sounds more than fair, BA." Hannibal smiled as BA rumbled out, undoubtedly headed for the motor pool. So now the two toughest sales were on board. He looked over at Wiley.  
  
"Well, kid? You okay with this?"  
  
Wiley tossed the stick down and carefully folded his knife. "You really want this guy?"  
  
"He's smart, knows how to get things done, has enough time in-country so we don't have to babysit. If he can pass muster with you guys on recon, he could be a big asset."  
  
"And if he doesn't?"  
  
"Same as anyone else. He gets reassigned."  
  
"He fixed Harris, didn't he?"  
  
Hannibal hesitated. Just like the guys had said the other night - Hannibal knew Peck had put it through; he also knew he'd never be able to prove it. And Harris and Wiley were buddies. He shook his head.  
  
"Then he'd be a miracle worker, Wiley. I don't think he's that good."  
  
There was a slight flicker in Wiley's eyes. "But good enough you want him on the team. You like him?"  
  
"So far, no. But I don't have to like him. And as long as he does his job..."  
  
Wiley nodded, gave a small smile, and walked out.  
  
*****  
  
"Lieutenant."  
  
Peck closed his eyes, forced himself to relax, and turned.  
  
"Colonel. Long time no see."  
  
"Too long, apparently." Wrenn looked past Peck into the hootch. "A bit different than you're used to."  
  
"I'll manage."  
  
"I'm not so sure. Hannibal Smith does things...differently than I do."  
  
"So I've heard." Peck smiled softly. Waited.  
  
"I was a bit surprised when the transfer orders came in. Unusual for me not to have to sign off on something like that."  
  
"It's an unusual place, Colonel."  
  
"Yes, it is. Different set of rules. I thought you understood that."  
  
"I understand a lot more than you might think, Colonel. Like self-preservation. You and I both know about that."  
  
Wrenn's jaw tightened. "We had an agreement, Peck. A very profitable one."  
  
Peck took a step forward, looking Wrenn eye to eye, inches separating them. "It was profitable. It was also risky. And getting too risky for you. I'm not blind, Colonel." He smiled suddenly. "I simply chose to void our 'contract' first. And in a different manner than you had in mind."  
  
"Something I can help you with, Jim?"  
  
Both men stepped back, turning to face Hannibal, standing on the pathway a few feet away.  
  
"No, Hannibal, just clearing up some details with Peck, here."  
  
"Okay. Speaking of details, Lieutenant, there are some reqs I need you to take care of, ASAP."  
  
"Will do, Colonel." He saluted both officers smartly and strode away.  
  
"So, I trust all your business with Peck is taken care of now, right, Jim?"  
  
Wrenn glanced coldly at his former officer as he turned a corner and disappeared.  
  
"Yeah, Hannibal. He and I are done."  
  
 **June 1969**  
  
"He did it again! And after he told Hannibal..."  
  
"Settle down, Wiley. So we got snookered. A little. He still did what he was supposed to. And now Hannibal's getting a nice rest. Besides, you got to take credit for the idea." Ray stretched out on his cot and grabbed a magazine.  
  
"He wasn't supposed to go along."  
  
"What difference does it make? He's earned it. Look at all the shit we've got now. He's gotten through more red tape in the last three months than Harris...than anyone could. C'mon, you of all people shouldn't begrudge the man. Or have you forgotten how he pulled your ass out of the fire up on the mountain?" Ray winked at BA, who sat on his cot behind Wiley.  
  
"I didn't need any help. I had that gook covered."  
  
"Yeah, Wiley, he was tremblin so bad he could barely pull his knife out." BA giggled.  
  
Wiley just glared at him and stalked out of the hootch.  
  
BA looked at Ray, surprised.  
  
"He ain't still mad about Harris, is he?"  
  
Ray shook his head. "Green-eyed devil, BA."  
  
"What? Man, you crazy."  
  
"No, I don't think so, BA. I don't think so..."  
  
*****  
  
"This is the life, huh, Colonel?"  
  
Hannibal looked across the table at Peck and took a sip of his Mai Tai.  
  
"Would've been nice if you'd cleared this with me first."  
  
That damn smile was turned on him again. "Then it wouldn't have been a surprise. Besides, everybody else thought it was a good idea."  
  
"I believe everybody else thought it was a good idea for me. I don't think they realized you were part of the package."  
  
"C'mon, Colonel. Here we are, with one of the best suites at the premier hotel on Oahu, with nothing but beach, booze, and broads for the next five days - you really think you could've done this if I hadn't tagged along?"  
  
"I would've managed, I'm sure, Lieutenant."  
  
"Not like this, Colonel. Not like this..."


	3. Chapter 3

**July 1969**  
  
It wasn't their day for luck.  
  
Two gunships hovered, firing at both the anti-aircraft position on the opposite hill, and the NVA coming up the trail, but it was more to buy time for the team on the ground than anything else. Their slick was somewhere up ahead, downed by the bastards on the hill. The team's extraction had suddenly turned into a search and rescue for the downed crewmen.  
  
The team was moving toward the wreck as fast as the dense jungle would allow. Hannibal figured, if anyone had even survived the crash, the gunner and co-pilot were probably in bad shape. Both had been hit before they even got the ladder out. He didn't know about Murdock, but he wasn't going to leave until he had any and all survivors with him.  
  
Hannibal was surprised to find it mostly upright, and in one piece except for the rotors. He left Ray and BA to watch their back trail and he, Peck and Wiley hurried to check for survivors. The gunner was dead and the co-pilot had taken a bad hit in the thigh. Wiley worked on the wound, while Hannibal and Peck looked for Murdock. Seated on the far side of the cockpit, he'd survived with a couple of nasty cuts and doubtless a lot of bruises; Hannibal hoped there was nothing else. They quickly got him out of the chopper, and Murdock painfully pulled his helmet off and threw it into the trees.  
  
"Damn, Hannibal. The other guys?"  
  
"Sorry, Murdock, we lost Rib-Eye. Handy's shot up, I don't know how bad."  
  
"Aw, shit, man..."  
  
"C'mon, Murdock, stick with me, okay? We gotta move."  
  
Murdock swallowed and nodded. He'd mourn his friend later.  
  
Peck was on the radio, and he didn't look happy. Hannibal looked up to see the gunships moving away.  
  
"What the hell?"  
  
"They're running out of everything - fuel, ammo - we're on our own, Colonel. They've sent for replacements but..."  
  
"Okay, let's move!"  
  
BA took Wiley's place, practically carrying Handy as the team moved further into the jungle. None of them had any illusions about stealth. The NVA knew exactly where they were. Their only hope was to find a defensible position and pray the new extraction team got there in time.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. He knew it was a futile attempt; there was no possible way to be comfortable in a tiger cage. He was actually hoping they'd be moved again tomorrow. Maybe someplace where the food was a little more plentiful. Or the ground not so marshy. The bugs not so thick.  
  
Maybe Hawaii. Hawaii had been nice.  
  
Didn't seem like just a few weeks ago he and Peck had been there. Time flies when you're having fun. He shifted again. He would have done all right on his own, but Peck had the gift. Not that Hannibal would admit it to him. But, yeah. Hawaii would be good.  
  
He heard a cough behind him and stretched to see if Murdock was okay. Hannibal knew he had a couple of cracked ribs, maybe more. Murdock looked over at him, slowly nodded. Hannibal returned the nod before turning back around and trying once more to find a comfortable position.  
  
Probably be better if they didn't move tomorrow. He sighed.  
  
Hawaii would have to wait.  
  
But not too long.  
  
*****  
  
Ray wasn't paying attention to what the others were doing. For one thing, he was the farthest away, could only see two of them. Secondly, it didn't really matter. Not yet. Not until Hannibal gave the signal. Let them know, somehow, that he had a plan, that things were in place. Until then, he did his job, just like they were on patrol. Learn the surroundings, the routine, notice the oddities. So he watched the guards. When they changed, where they walked, who they were. The patterns, the weaknesses. Every time they moved the camp, he learned whatever routine they had.  
  
So far, these guys were really screwing up.  
  
They'd moved every few days, sometimes walking for a day, sometimes only for a few hours. But each time they stopped, the guards' routine was almost exactly like the last one. Small variances, but not enough to matter. They used old campsites, rebuilding or just repairing, and it seemed the camps were pretty standard. Good for concealment, good for defense. From the outside, anyway.  
  
Strengths, weaknesses. He knew them both now. So when Hannibal made his move, Ray would be ready.  
  
He leaned his head back, nestling it in the ridge between two bamboo poles. Sighing softly, he began to recite the Apostles' Creed in his head. Tomorrow he'd try the Gettysburg Address.  
  
*****  
  
It was a small chance, but that's all he'd really needed. It had only taken a couple of days to figure out who the "real" NVA were, and who would prefer to be home, tending their own business. He just had to watch how they looked at the Americans to know. He'd been almost sure, and then when the soup had come with small pieces of bread in it, he'd known.  
  
The first move had been the most dangerous. Always was, no matter what the circumstances. You never knew for sure how the mark would react, no matter how closely you'd checked them out. He was acting almost on gut instinct with this one. And the stakes were incredibly high now, not only for himself but for the others. If this guy wasn't what he thought, they could end up dead.  
  
Or worse.  
  
The first overture was quick, simple. A small smile as the cook placed the bowl just outside the cage. For a split second, they looked eye to eye, and then the smile was returned.  
  
It was two more weeks before the opportunity arose for more than an exchange of smiles. A quick whisper.  
  
"Ân nhân? Friend?"  
  
The cook glanced quickly around, then nodded sharply before moving away.  
  
Every day, every other day, whenever they could after that, they spoke. A word, maybe a quick exchange. Gradually, they forged a tentative...well, he couldn't really call it a friendship. He wasn't sure what to call it. Not until he knew how far he could take it.  
  
What Lin told him today meant he'd have to find out.  
  
*****  
  
He knew Hannibal had said to forget it, not think about it, but it was hard. Days, weeks, of nothing to do except think about it. That, and watch for bugs, snakes, grubs. Anything to supplement that crap the gooks called food. He sighed. Shouldn't complain. Anything would taste good today. There'd been nothing yesterday.  
  
He looked up suddenly at the sound of low voices. Hannibal was looking in the same direction.  
  
At Peck, talking to some gook.  
  
Wiley started to straighten up, but at a quick frown from Hannibal, he settled back down. Maybe Hannibal was close enough to hear what they were saying. Maybe he understood more of that lingo than Wiley did. So maybe it was okay.  
  
Hannibal wasn't watching them anymore, instead looked off in another direction. So he didn't want anyone drawing attention to them. Wiley looked away, too, but not enough that he couldn't see them. Peck kept looking around the camp while he talked; the gook kept looking at the prisoners.  
  
It only lasted a minute. Maybe not that long. Then the NVA walked off, and Peck settled back in his cage, looking casual. Almost relaxed. Like he was on a fucking vacation. Peck's glance stopped at Wiley, and he smiled.  
  
Wiley just stared back.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock watched Hannibal watching something. Or someone. He couldn't see who. Not without turning, and he didn't really want to turn. He didn't really want to breathe, but that was inevitable. He'd bruised his ribs a few years ago, and that had been bad. This was worse. And he knew it wouldn't get better any time soon.  
  
He carefully, very carefully, slid down so he was lying flat on his back, knees bent to accommodate the confines of his cage. They weren't built for a man of normal height, let alone someone like himself. But at least he could relax a little bit this way.  
  
As the guards came around, doing their nightly security check, Murdock closed his eyes and went through his evening ritual. All the things he was thankful for. Like the gooks not finding out he was the pilot. And that they let one of the guys help him as they made their way from camp to camp. It was a hellish way to live, but at least it kept him alive. And if Peck was right...  
  
As much as it would hurt, he hoped they would move out tomorrow. He knew the lieutenant would find a way to be with Murdock.  
  
If he had any news, anyway.  
  
*****  
  
BA was across the camp from Ray. The NVA kept the prisoners spread out as much as they could, isolated from each other. And no talking. No way. They'd damn near knocked Hannibal out cold when he tried. Didn't even like it when they looked at each other.  
  
BA was watching the lieutenant and that other guy, too. He couldn't figure that out. It was the second time he'd seen the two of them like that. Late last night they were together, too. Either Peck was taking one hell of a chance, or...  
  
No. No, he wasn't ready to believe that.  
  
The two men broke apart and BA closed his eyes. He needed to get some sleep. He opened his eyes. He needed to sleep but he didn't like closing his eyes. Every time he did he saw Handy.  
  
The NVA had played with the team for a long time before the final attack. Let them settle, and then come in from three different directions, firing like fury. No way the guys could hold them off. So they'd take off again, BA dragging poor Handy, until they found another spot they thought they could hold until help arrived.  
  
But the help never came. They kept being pushed farther and farther into the jungle, and never had a chance to radio their new position. Never had time to figure out where they were.  
  
And then they ran out of ammo. One by one. The NVA came raining in on them, shoving them down, kicking, hitting. Then they found Handy, half-conscious behind a big rock.  
  
He never had a chance.  
  
BA closed his eyes once more.  
  
Maybe that was a mercy.  
  
*****  
  
"But why me?"  
  
"Because you're the only way to Hannibal, that's why. Besides," Peck stepped carefully over a root, trying not to jar Murdock in the process, "you're already a little strange. Shouldn't be that hard to pretend you're totally nuts."  
  
"You're a real asshole, you know that?"  
  
"Look, Chow may be educated and 'modern', but most of these others guys aren't so quick to give up their superstitions. And if they think you've got demons or spirits possessing you, they'll steer clear."  
  
"Yeah, or shoot me."  
  
"No, they won't do that. That might turn the spirits on them."  
  
"What about Lin?"  
  
"The rest will think he's foolish for talking to you, and Chow, if he thinks about it at all, will just think he's trying to get intel. Which makes both of you safer."  
  
"Okay, one last question."  
  
"Fine, but make it quick."  
  
"Why can't you talk to Lin anymore?" Peck didn't answer, and Murdock looked sharply at him. "I said, why can't you..."  
  
"I heard you." He stopped to wipe the sweat off his face, nodding and smiling at the guard who started to prod them forward again. "I can, but I don't know for how long. Lin told me we're joining up with another group of prisoners in a few days. And one of them has apparently been more than 'helpful' to his captors."  
  
"What? No way!"  
  
"Shut up!" Peck pulled Murdock to the side, again nodding and smiling at the guard, who scowled back. They stumbled on a few yards more before the guard moved away. "Look, I don't know if it's true, but I can't take the chance. You know enough of the lingo to work with Lin; if these guys think you're a fruitcake, you'll have the privacy I won't; and, you're the only one who has any real access to Hannibal. It's got to be this way, Murdock. Without Lin, we don't stand a chance of getting everyone out."  
  
Murdock scowled. What Peck was saying made sense, but he still didn't like it. Maybe it would work the way he said; then again, maybe the guards were getting suspicious and he was just saving his own skin. Or maybe this Lin and he had made some kind of deal.  
  
Damn. Peck had never done anything to him, but Murdock knew Wiley didn't trust him. BA wasn't real sure of him, though he'd stopped grumbling about him. And Ray actually seemed to like the guy. Still, he had that rep...  
  
Then again, Murdock had a rep, too. Probably why Peck had come up this whole stupid idea.  
  
He was right about one thing, though. Murdock did have access to Hannibal. And so far the colonel liked what Peck was doing. He sighed. They would definitely need help to get everyone out...  
  
He looked at Peck, nodded.  
  
He was about to take Howlin' Mad to new heights.


	4. Chapter 4

**September 1969**  
  
Hannibal knew they had to make their move, and soon. They'd been moving steadily, if slowly, to the north, and though he wasn't sure of their exact location, he had no doubts about their final destination. He wasn't about to let that happen. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite sure how he could prevent it. Not yet.  
  
They'd been close, very close, a couple of days ago. Just before they got to this new camp. The guards, like the prisoners, hadn't eaten much. Uncle Sam's flyboys had turned their nearest cache of supplies into a barbecue, and there wasn't much left. The rainy season had started with a vengeance, so game was scarce, and the river too swollen to fish. Hungry guards are careless guards, and as they moved further up the rain-soaked paths into the mountains, the gaps between them and their prisoners got longer.  
  
They were skirting the edge of a defoliated area, and the narrow path they were following turned in a long, slow curve. Hannibal had a nice view of the area coming up, and it took him all of two seconds to see the spot. He looked up ahead, where BA and Ray were moving as slowly as allowed. He knew Murdock and Peck were a few yards behind him, with Wiley bringing up the rear.  
  
Hannibal sneezed. Loud.  
  
"Ahhh-clozeup!"  
  
The guards looked at him, suspicious, but the rest of the team seemed to ignore him. He dodged his head, apologetically, and the guards moved on.  
  
BA and Ray started slipping in the mud, and Hannibal gradually moved up on them. Moments later, Hannibal could hear Murdock, Peck, and Wiley closing in behind him.  
  
He allowed himself a quick smile.  
  
As they neared the spot, he knew BA and Ray had spotted it as well. It was damn near perfect. The path took a bit of a jog to one side - just enough to offer a moment or two of obscurity. Enough to take out any guards that might be close enough to cause problems and then slither down into the deep ravine. Hannibal glanced up at the rain coming down in a soft but steady wash. He was actually thankful for it today. The guards had taken the ankle ropes off when the prisoners kept falling in the slippery mud. Even with their hands still tied, they could at least run.  
  
They were almost there, almost ready to make their break. Ray and BA were just moving into the turn, Hannibal right behind them. He turned his head to see where the others were, just in time to see Peck drop and slide off the path, dragging Murdock with him.  
  
Unfortunately, it was in the wrong direction.  
  
Afraid the others would follow, equally afraid the guards would start shooting, Hannibal started yelling.  
  
"Bùn! Bùn! Mud! Mud!"  
  
The guards were swarming over them now, pushing the remaining men into a tight group, rifle muzzles inches from their heads. A half dozen or more scrambled down the slope to the fallen men. Hannibal could hear both Peck and Murdock yelling in Vietnamese.  
  
They'd been lucky, overall. No one got shot. Murdock's ribs obviously took another beating. Wiley had to take over helping him along; Peck was mobile but limping. Unfortunately, the guards had gotten the wake-up call. Hungry or not, they maintained a very close watch on the prisoners after that.  
  
So here they were, back in their separated tiger cages, waiting for the new group to arrive, and Hannibal's options were fast going down the drain. Lin had let him know, via Murdock, about this General Chow. A proclaimed Communist, but apparently only out of ambition. The supposed collaborator was another big problem. He had to hand it to Peck; the ruse with Murdock was a smart idea, if the rumors about that American were true. Nobody would care who talked to a madman.  
  
Hannibal sighed. Murdock's ribs were as bad as after the crash, if not worse, but Hannibal also worried that the pilot was getting into his role with a little too much enjoyment. And then there was Peck. By the time they'd gotten to the camp, his knee had started swelling; now he couldn't straighten it at all, and barely moved in his cage.  
  
BA was getting more surly, if that was possible. He knew a few choice words in Vietnamese and had started using them. Even Ray was starting to resist the orders from the guards. Many times Hannibal couldn't even see them, let alone talk to them, and knew he was starting to lose control. So far they'd gotten a few cuffs, nothing major, but with supplies low and this general coming, it wasn't the time to aggravate the guards.  
  
But the most troubling to him was Wiley, and what Wiley had told him, back in the jungle after that disastrous fall. He didn't know if it were true, or if Wiley was just getting paranoid. But it was something he had to consider.  
  
"He did it on purpose, Hannibal. Peck didn't just slip."  
  
*****  
  
He was tired. God, was he tired. Tired of being in this goddam bamboo cage. Tired of nothing to eat except soup and bugs and an occasional snake. Tired of walking through that damn jungle. Tired of everything.  
  
He opened his eyes, staring up. He wanted to see sky. Real sky, not just a glimpse now and then when the wind blew. Now he didn't even have that. Just clouds and rain and mud.  
  
He shifted, knowing it wouldn't do any good. He swore those damn gooks deliberately stuck them in muddiest spots. He looked around, trying to see Hannibal, but there was a hut between the two men. He had a clear view of Ray, though, and also Peck.  
  
He smiled a little at that. Peck. Nearly six months he'd been with the team, and everyone still called him Peck. Or Lieutenant. Even Hannibal. He wondered if anyone besides Hannibal even knew his first name.  
  
So maybe they weren't as taken in by him as he'd thought.  
  
He looked over at BA, who was watching Peck. Both he and Ray had heard what Wiley told Hannibal, about how Peck had deliberately stepped off the path. Taken away their first, and maybe only, opportunity to escape. It confirmed everything Wiley had seen since their capture. He knew now that all that chatter with Lin had nothing to do with an escape plan.  
  
Peck was doing what he always did, what he'd always done - taking care of himself. Making them think Lin was sneaking them extra food. Nobody saw what Peck was getting to eat. Just like nobody heard what he was saying to Lin. Or what Lin was really telling him.  
  
BA looked over at Wiley now, and they nodded, ever so slightly. BA knew what Peck was, had shared Wiley's suspicions right from the first. Neither of them really wanted him on the team. If only Hannibal hadn't been so...stubborn. So what if Harris had been a little slow about getting stuff? At least they could trust him.  
  
He turned his attention to one of the guards, sauntering past Peck's cage. The guard looked up, saw Wiley looking at him, and surprisingly, smiled. He then jammed the butt of his gun between the bars and into Peck's knee. Peck yelled, grabbed it. The guard laughed and walked on, ignoring BA's invectives.  
  
Wiley scowled. He didn't like Peck, but he didn't deserve that.  
  
He closed his eyes. He had to think. Peck couldn't be trusted; he knew that for sure. But if he were really working a deal with the NVA, why the rough treatment?  
  
He heard more laughter. That same guard, talking to Lin. Both were laughing. Then the guard moved on and Lin made a beeline for Peck. They talked, ever so briefly, before Lin hurried off.  
  
Wiley sighed. Peck couldn't have made a deal with every damn gook in the place. But Lin...yeah, he definitely had something going there. Maybe with a few others.  
  
He glanced over at Peck, who was now sitting up, holding his knee, massaging it.  
  
Now, if the rumors about that collaborator were true...that would be interesting. Maybe that was why Peck had talked Murdock into being the go-between for Lin and Hannibal. Putting the onus on somebody else until he figured the new guy out.  
  
Well, they'd find out tomorrow...  
  
*****  
  
"I wish you'd reconsider, LT. With your connections here and mine back home, we could come out of this whole thing looking real good. And ol' Chow, he's got the goods, just waiting to work out a decent distribution system."  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you, Tommy? You don't hear very well."  
  
Tommy straightened up, resting his arm on the top of the cage. He shook it slightly, and Peck couldn't help a small grimace.  
  
"Now, see there, LT? You hook up with me and the general, we'd get that leg all taken care of. And no more bamboo, either. Nice bed, good food. And the rest of your guys get a lot better than what they've got now. What more could you ask for?"  
  
"How about my self-respect?"  
  
Tommy laughed and walked away. Peck stared after him, jaw tightening. What he wouldn't give to have that bastard back in Nha Trang right now. He'd introduce Tommy Angel to some of his connections, all right.  
  
He turned slightly, trying to see Hannibal or Murdock, but he could only make out a corner of one cage. He leaned back, trying to ease the pull on his knee. The last few days had been a fucking nightmare. Peck's worries about the general had proven correct - security had been a lot tighter, and there were no more conversations with Lin. A quick nod when delivering meals, to let him know things were moving along; that was about it. Every now and then he'd hear Murdock, singing some cowboy song. He could swear he heard Lin, too, but decided it must be some kind of hallucination from lack of sleep, or food, or just pain.  
  
And there was a lot of pain. He knew he'd done some serious damage, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. But he wasn't the only one. Whereas the captain who'd been in charge before was happy just to keep his prisoners alive until they got to Hanoi, Chow wanted any and all information long before that. Peck figured he thought it would make him look good to his superiors.  
  
Or maybe he figured he better get it while he could.  
  
He'd watched as the guys were taken, one by one, to see Chow. And as they were returned. None of them looked very good going in, and a hell of a lot worse coming out. That was the only time he regretted turning Tommy down. Maybe if he'd actually believed Tommy...  
  
He turned his head slightly to look over at BA. He'd thought, before they got captured, that he was actually getting through to the guy. A little, anyway. But not now. He wasn't dumb; he knew what the rest of them thought. He was the only one of the prisoners Tommy would talk to. And the only one who hadn't gotten hauled in to see Chow. Didn't take a rocket scientist to know what they were all thinking. They wouldn't even look at him as they went by.  
  
Not even the colonel.  
  
He sighed. He'd broken the Golden Rule. His Golden Rule. When he first joined the team, it was supposed to be just like Wrenn's group. All business. When they were out in the boonies, or in training, he did what he was supposed to, and did it well. That's what kept him alive. That was all that mattered. But when they came back from the boonies, he went his way and the other guys went theirs. It had worked fine. But Wrenn's bunch weren't anything like Hannibal's team.  
  
Hannibal. He smiled. He still hadn't gotten the nerve to call the colonel by his nickname, like the rest of them. Hell, it'd only been in the month or so before Hawaii that he'd called any of them by their nicknames. Yeah, he'd just been getting to the point where he almost thought of himself as one of them, instead of just 'them'. Almost to the point of using "Hannibal".  
  
Guess he didn't have to worry about that any more.  
  
He wasn't even sure they'd take him along when they left.  
  
*****  
  
That night, Lin delivered the meals to each of the prisoners, as usual. As he handed out the bowls, he told each one to be careful and sip slowly, as the soup was hot. Too hot, he said, emphasizing the too. As each man finished their meal, they understood. At the bottom of each bowl was a cut off spoon, sharpened along the edges.  
  
As the men hid their new weapons in the soft mud, their thoughts were identical.  
  
In two days, they'd escape.  
  
Or die trying.


	5. Chapter 5

**September 1969**  
  
Lin watched carefully out of the corner of his eye as Lieutenant Angel picked the small berries. He knew the lieutenant was not happy about this detail, but he could hardly refuse. General Chow may have uses for him, but he was still an American, and the general was unhappy Angel hadn't yet 'converted' the other American. When Lin had indicated he could use some help with the cooking, Tommy Angel had been sitting indolently a few feet away. Now the two of them were scouring the jungle just outside the camp. Lin had pointed out a certain plant whose berries, when mashed up, were a tasty addition to otherwise bland food.  
  
Lin didn't mention that the plant he'd pointed out was actually a cousin to the tasty one, though looking very much like it. Nor that once picked, the berries were indistinguishable from each other. And these berries had a very different effect.  
  
Angel straightened up and made a futile attempt to wipe the mud from his clothes. "Haven't we got enough of these things yet, Lin?"  
  
Lin looked over, doing a quick calculation. "Almost, Lieutenant."  
  
Angel sighed and bent back to his picking. Lin smiled bitterly. He would make sure the lieutenant didn't slack off. He had to have enough of the berries.  
  
*****  
  
"You sure you want to go through with this?"  
  
"Yes, Murdock. I was worried, at first, but now when I see how Lieutenant Angel is treated, and how the General...I cannot stand by now."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"I will eat the same food, and suffer the same effects. That's why it will not kill them." He chuckled softly. "It may not be so pleasant for Lieutenant Angel. He will be blamed for picking the wrong berries."  
  
Murdock smiled tiredly. "I wish you'd come with us, Lin."  
  
Lin shook his head. "No, I still have family here. It would be dangerous for them." He stood and looked around. "There are four others. On the far side of the camp. I did not give them spoons, as I don't know them, but your colonel should know. It will go hard on them if they are left behind."  
  
Murdock nodded. "Understood."  
  
"I must go now, before I'm missed. I will not talk to you again. Good luck."  
  
Murdock watched as Lin made his way back across the compound, waiting until he was out of sight. Smiling nervously, he began his daily concert.  
  
"When Johnny comes marching home again, Hurrah! Hurrah!..."  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal had, as usual, been studiously ignoring Murdock and Lin. He pretended to be asleep, watching through not quite closed lids, as another guard passed a few yards away. He caught a glimpse of Lin heading in the opposite direction and moments later, Murdock burst into song.  
  
He smiled.  
  
Whatever Lin had planned as a diversion was on schedule. He didn't know what it was; none of them did. Lin told Murdock only what he had to know, and Murdock passed it on to Hannibal when he was allowed to check Murdock's injuries. The only thing Hannibal knew was that Lin's diversion would be "obvious", and it should allow the men time to escape.  
  
After that...  
  
Hannibal sighed. The others knew even less than he did. Only that something would happen tonight, and it would allow them to make their break.  
  
If Lin was to be trusted.  
  
Hannibal pushed that sudden thought aside. They had no choice but to trust him. And he'd given them no reason not to.  
  
Other than he'd first connected with them through Peck.  
  
Sighing, he tried to drop his suspicions in that direction. Tried. Failed.  
  
He was willing to give Peck the benefit of the doubt when it came to that botched escape. Murdock couldn't say for sure how the lieutenant had fallen - whether it was deliberate or just a badly timed slip in the mud. Wiley was sure, though, and he wouldn't lie about something like that. Then again, Wiley hadn't liked Peck from the beginning.  
  
Hannibal had always been able to rely on Wiley's judgment; it had saved him many a headache. If Wiley had known the full details about the deal with Peck, maybe he would've, well, maybe not trusted him more, but been less guarded about him. Maybe that dislike had colored his perception of what had happened. Peck had screwed up his knee in the fall, after all.  
  
Of course, that could've happened, planned fall or not.  
  
But then Chow had come, and Tommy Angel. Hannibal couldn't ignore what happened after that. No one could ignore the very obvious fact that Peck had never been interrogated by the general. And Hannibal, himself, had seen Angel talking with him on more than one occasion as Hannibal had been dragged back from a session.  
  
Then again, no matter how silver-tongued Peck might be, he would have no choice in how he was treated. And other than the interrogations, he was still treated the same as all the others. Worse, actually. No one had been allowed to check his injury. Lin was quite worried about that, apparently. Afraid they would leave the lieutenant behind if he couldn't walk.  
  
Hannibal's jaw tightened. There was only one traitor they'd be leaving behind.  
  
*****  
  
Wiley was doing sit-ups. It hurt his back, going up and down on the bamboo bottom of the cage. It was harder now, because of the bruises, but he ignored that, just as he always did. They had all done whatever exercising they could in the small confines; not only did it keep their muscles from wasting away, but it gave them something to do. The guards didn't like it, and now and again would give them a wallop with their rifle butts, but it didn't stop them.  
  
He finished his fifty just as Murdock's song echoed through the camp. He smiled, though he knew the guards would soon put a stop to it. But not before he'd managed to let them know at least a little of what was happening. It had taken him a moment to realize what Murdock was singing this time, but when he did, he smiled even more.  
  
Tonight for sure.  
  
He looked for BA and Ray, but instead, his glance caught on Peck. Surely he had heard the song, understood the meaning. But he hadn't moved.  
  
Wiley frowned.  
  
Was he too sick? Wiley dismissed that. Peck was probably the healthiest of them all, except for his leg. So why wasn't he reacting? Something to show he was prepared.  
  
Or maybe he was prepared. Maybe he knew something the others didn't. Something that traitor, Angel, had told him.  
  
Wiley leaned back against the bars.  
  
Maybe Chow was also prepared...  
  
*****  
  
Ray was watching the camp activities carefully. All afternoon the gooks had been busy. It had taken him a while to figure it out. Stupid. These weren't just guards; that was only an additional duty. These were soldiers, fighting a war.  
  
Now the question was if the whole camp would be moving again.  
  
He'd heard Murdock's signal as well as the others. But what if something had changed? There was no way to let everyone know the moment something happened. Then again, though they were hurrying, there was no excitement to it.  
  
His fingers idly rubbed the mud where his spoon was hidden. This was a planned outing, then. Something they'd known about in advance. Something Lin had known about.  
  
Ray looked across the camp, where the kitchen was set up. Lin was busy, making up packets of food. Probably for the ones going out on the mission. From the looks of it, that would be a good share of them. Only a few left behind. Wouldn't need many; they only had ten prisoners, and none of them were in great shape. Then again, with so many soldiers gone, the ones left were going to be extra cautious.  
  
He hoped that Lin and Hannibal knew what they were doing.  
  
*****  
  
The troops were moving out now, disappearing into the jungle. In a couple more hours it would be totally dark. BA had noticed how much they were packing and figured these guys would be traveling some distance; probably join up with another bunch and go play hell wherever they found some Americans.  
  
BA was of two minds about that. He was glad these guys were leaving, but if he was right, it meant there weren't any Americans close by. And that meant a bigger chance of getting caught before the team could find any friendlies.  
  
BA looked around him, disgustedly. He didn't care what was out there. As long as they were out of here.  
  
He turned his attention to the remaining guards. They'd split into two groups, one maintaining a close watch on the prisoners, the other moving toward the kitchen. Whatever they were getting to eat, it smelled damn good. He looked at the empty bowl outside his cage. Sure as hell wasn't what the prisoners had gotten. Then again, he guessed they were lucky they'd gotten anything today. Lots of days they didn't. That would change, too. Wiley was one good hunter, knew a lot more than even the SF had taught them. Ray was no slouch, either. Yeah, they'd eat pretty good after they got out of here. Rain or no rain.  
  
He looked over at Ray, who nodded. Wiley, the same. He couldn't see Hannibal or Murdock, and those four other guys who'd come in with the general didn't know what was going down yet. He checked out Peck. Funny. He'd been moving around that morning, trying to do something with that leg again, but he hadn't moved all afternoon. Looked like he hadn't even eaten. Well, he'd better wake up and smell the coffee pretty damn soon. They had to be ready whenever...  
  
BA looked closer.  
  
Damn...  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal was quickly sawing away at the rope holding his door closed. The rope was wet, which made it harder to cut through, but he was getting there. He glanced over at Murdock; he was sawing more slowly, in deference to his ribs, but he was making progress.  
  
Even though he was pretty sure all of the guards in camp had succumbed to Lin's magic, he still kept glancing about. One or more of them may not have eaten enough of whatever it was Lin had given them. But it seemed the entire camp was down for the count. How long was another question.  
  
Finally, the last strands of rope snapped and Hannibal pushed the door open, climbing stiffly out. No matter how much they'd tried to keep limber, almost two months of being almost continuously in these cages made it hard to get moving. But they'd loosen up once they got everyone free and headed out of this hell hole.  
  
A noise behind made him jump, only to realize it was Murdock finishing up. Hannibal hurried over to help him out. Slowly the two men skirted the hut that had separated them from the others. He had Murdock sit on the steps while he went to check on the others, grabbing a flashlight and rifle from one of the drugged guards.  
  
He found Wiley helping Ray cut the ropes on the cages that held the other four prisoners. Hannibal didn't think he would ever forget the look on their faces. Disbelief, fear...hope. He helped them, one by one, over to the hut where Murdock waited. They were much thinner than his team, but then, they'd been with Chow the whole time.  
  
"You guys gonna be able to keep up, or you need help?"  
  
"Don't worry about us, man. Point us east and we're gone."  
  
Hannibal chuckled. "Well, just don't get too gung-ho on me, okay? We don't want any mistakes that put us right back here."  
  
"Got it, sir."  
  
Hannibal nodded and looked around. Ray and Wiley were gathering up more weapons and flashlights from the downed guards. Hannibal sent the two healthiest looking of the new guys to find canteens, with instructions to empty them thoroughly. They'd fill them up again with fresh water from the river a mile or so back. Murdock had told him Lin had doctored the food, but he wasn't taking any chances.  
  
He took one last look around. The weapons being gathered, canteens and any medicines pilfered.  
  
Now he just had to find BA and Peck.  
  
*****  
  
He heard the guards dropping. Heard the garbled mutterings as they slowly slipped into unconsciousness and fell. Heard the grating sounds from around the otherwise silent camp, as the others began cutting away at their prisons.  
  
He heard it all, but there was not a thing he could do about it.  
  
He'd realized it early that morning. When it first dawned on him, he'd thought he could work past it. He was strong-willed, he could deal with the pain. But it wasn't the pain that defeated him. No amount of will would make that leg bend, and no amount of wishing would make it straighten. It was as if it were frozen in place, and if he couldn't move it, he couldn't reach the door.  
  
So that was that. The others wouldn't take the time to get him out. Why would they? Besides the fact they all had him pegged as a traitor, he would only slow them down.  
  
Knowing that, he'd called it quits. He lay back down, closed his eyes, and let his mind go back home. Even as he heard the sounds of the escape in progress, he kept the pictures in his head. He knew he'd never see it any other way again.  
  
And then his cage began to move. Not the rough shaking of the guards, but more of a tremble. He opened his eyes and looked over his body toward the door. He couldn't believe it.  
  
"BA? What are you...?"  
  
BA looked down at him, and even in the dark he just knew he was being glared at.  
  
"What d'ya think I'm doin? I'm gettin you outta there."  
  
*****  
  
As soon as BA saw the first signs of the guards getting drowsy, he knew it was going down. Waiting only until he knew all the guards were starting to feel the effects, he dug his fingers into the mud, pulled the spoon out and started working on his escape. A couple of guards made an attempt to aim at him, but he ignored them as their rifles slid useless out of their hands.  
  
He was probably one of the first ones out, and he made a beeline for the lieutenant's cage, stopping only long enough to search the body of one guard, grabbing his flashlight. He'd look for the rifle later. Right now he had to get Peck freed.  
  
As soon as he found the right rope, he dropped the flashlight and started slicing. He cut Peck's question short.  
  
What'd the damn fool think he was gonna do, leave him?  
  
It took him only a moment to cut through and he yanked the door practically off. Grabbing the flashlight, he pointed it at Peck.  
  
Damn. For a guy who was usually so cold and smart-ass, he actually looked scared.  
  
"Can you scoot outta there?"  
  
"I don't know. I think so."  
  
"Then get movin!"  
  
It took two tries before BA knew the kid wasn't going anywhere on his own power. He should've realized - Peck had been practically immobile for days now.  
  
"Problem, BA?"  
  
He jumped, not having heard Hannibal coming up behind him. He was never so glad to see anyone in his life.  
  
"He can't move, Hannibal. Gimme a hand."  
  
They each got on either side of the cage, reaching between the bars and lifting Peck up enough to move him forward. It was slow going, even with Peck trying to push himself forward. Too slow; every minute they were in the camp was another minute taken from their actual escape, and they all knew it.  
  
BA was glad it was Hannibal's call.  
  
"BA, take his feet. Okay, kid, hang on. This is gonna be rough."  
  
BA was impressed, despite himself. The lieutenant didn't even scream as they yanked him out. Just passed out.  
  
Without a word, BA pulled him over his shoulder, guiltily thankful he was so thin.  
  
Hannibal looked at the group now gathered around them and nodded.  
  
"Let's get the hell out of here."


	6. Chapter 6

**September 1969**  
  
When moving through the mountains, if a patrol had good weather, conditioned troops, and didn't meet up with too many enemy, it could take a day to move a kilometer. Hannibal figured if they made half that each day, they'd be lucky. Tonight, his only concern was putting at least some distance between his people and the camp, and then finding a place where they would be hidden until morning.  
  
It took a while before Peck started coming to; Hannibal figured a combination of pain and exhaustion had kept him under. They moved into a heavy thicket, and as BA was relieved of his load, Hannibal could see the sergeant was pretty close to exhaustion himself. The rest of the men weren't much better; soaking wet and muddy, threadbare pajamas hanging on them, their ragged condition glared at him. He looked around and decided this was as good a place as any to stay put. He needed to figure out exactly what their situation was before they went much farther anyway. No point walking head-on into another gook camp.  
  
His first priority was to find out just how badly injured Peck was. As a couple of the guys focused their flashlights on Peck, Hannibal crossed his fingers mentally, hoping it was only a matter of walking out the stiffness. Unfortunately, at his first attempt to move the leg, Peck nearly bit through his lip trying to keep quiet; Hannibal figured he'd torn something. Not good.  
  
He stood up, wiping the sweat from his face, and looked at the men, who'd been waiting quietly for the verdict. He shook his head.  
  
"He's not going anywhere on that leg, guys."  
  
"I can fix a set of crutches, Hannibal. Lots of good saplins round for that."  
  
"I'd slow you down too much, BA."  
  
"Not to mention leaving a trail a blind man could follow." Ray shook his head.  
  
"How about a stretcher?"  
  
Wiley frowned, looking at the thick trees and underbrush. "There's no way we can carry a litter through this jungle, Murdock."  
  
"We ain't leavin him here..."  
  
"They're right, BA. Just leave me a rifle..."  
  
"Maybe we could send someone back for him." Murdock frowned. "No..."  
  
"No way, man!"  
  
"Listen, just leave me a rifle and some water and..."  
  
"And nothing, Lieutenant. We aren't leaving you behind. Not when you're the one that got us out."  
  
"I'm not going to be the one who sends you back there, either."  
  
"Listen, Lieutenant..."  
  
"No, Colonel, you listen! You've got eight other guys to worry about..."  
  
"I know what my responsibilities are, Peck..."  
  
"Why don't you all just shut the fuck up?"  
  
The men all turned and stared. The prisoner Hannibal had first spoken to at the camp was standing in front of his three compatriots, glaring.  
  
"You have something to say, Soldier?" Hannibal's voice was ice cold.  
  
"Name's Platt. And, yeah, I got something to say. All of you are right! The kid might be able to walk with crutches, but Chow'd catch up with us in no time. And we can't carry no litter through this jungle. But you're right, too, Colonel. I'd be ashamed to leave anyone behind if we didn't have to. But look at him!" All eyes turned to the man on the ground, who suddenly reddened at the attention. "Think of all the shit we usually carry - that boy can't weigh much more'n that! Now maybe we ain't in the best shape, but there's no reason we can't take turns with him."  
  
"Take turns? You mean carry him out?" Wiley stared.  
  
"What? You never give any kids piggyback rides?"  
  
"What?" Peck turned a darker shade of red. "Piggyback?"  
  
Murdock grinned. "Well, if it's BA, you could call it horsey-back."  
  
Hannibal bit back a smile. "He's got a point, guys. We have enough of us in somewhat decent shape. If we traded often enough..."  
  
"Wouldn't be easy, but it's better'n leaving him here." BA was starting to smile. "I'm for it."  
  
"Colonel..."  
  
"You'd rather be left here for Chow to find, Lieutenant?"  
  
Peck just stared at the ground.  
  
Murdock started giggling.  
  
"A Peck or a pack, take your pick..."  
  
Wiley looked at Ray, rolling his eyes. "Very funny, Murdock. Very funny."  
  
*****  
  
BA, Wiley, Ray, and one of the new guys, Cook, were working out a rotation for getting Peck out. Hannibal and Platt were going over their stolen supplies. Besides the rifles and canteens, they'd also managed to bring along medications, a bag of fruit, and two compasses. Platt, with a big grin, pulled a large map from his goodie bag.  
  
"Hope you can read gook, Colonel."  
  
"No, but I think I can recognize some of the coordinates. Our biggest problem is figuring out just where the hell we are; then I'll know where we need to go."  
  
"What about the medicine?"  
  
Hannibal looked through the small packets and sighed. "I can't read these either. God knows what they are. But there's some American issue aspirin, at least. How are your guys doing?"  
  
"They're all malnourished; Shipley's got a few more bruises than Russo, but otherwise I think they're okay. I gotta give that son of a bitch Angel credit for that; once he turned, my guys got a little better treatment. Wish I could say the same for the others."  
  
"Others?"  
  
Platt spat on the ground. "Five others didn't make it." He stood and looked around. "We oughta be all right here, if everybody keeps quiet. Uh, about that Murdock fella..."  
  
"He'll be okay, Platt. That crazy thing was just an act so we had some way of communicating."  
  
"Uh huh." Platt looked over where Murdock was seated near Peck. "Okay. If you say so, Colonel."  
  
Hannibal hesitated a moment, but only a moment.  
  
"I say so. Now, let's get these guys settled for the night. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow."  
  
*****  
  
The first patrol came through in the middle of the night. The rain had stopped, and there was just enough moonlight filtering through to see movement. BA gave Hannibal a soft kick, and Hannibal passed on the 'message'. He'd worried about this, but thankfully Platt's men were experienced. They woke without a sound. Murdock leaned over and quietly put his hand over Peck's mouth; his eyes snapped open, but he stayed down and quiet. Hannibal smiled, satisfied, before focusing on the patrol.  
  
They were coming from the camp; of that, there was no doubt. There was a general stir among the hiding men when they saw Tommy Angel among them. Hannibal felt his own anger spike but held it in check. One day, hopefully soon, he'd deal with that scum, but now was not the time. He couldn't help but take a quick glance in Peck's direction, and immediately felt ashamed. Then he saw he wasn't the only one. Wiley, Platt, and Ray were also looking.  
  
And Peck was looking right at Hannibal.  
  
Hannibal quickly turned his attention back to the patrol. They were moving slowly, literally beating the bushes, poking into the underbrush with their bayonets. He looked at the other men; no one was close enough to the perimeter to worry about that, but if the patrol discovered the thicket...  
  
It took almost ten minutes for the patrol to move completely past the group. Even then, no one moved or spoke. Hannibal waited for what he figured was another ten minutes before he stepped cautiously out of the thicket. It was too dark to see anything, but he couldn't hear anything other than the normal night sounds. He moved back and crouched by the other men.  
  
"Okay, they're gone for now. If they think they've lost us, that's great. If not, they'll be doing a more thorough search on their way back to camp. So we have to move."  
  
"Where to, Hannibal?"  
  
"If you guys think you can make it, we'll go up the mountain. Not far - just enough to get out of their way. Then in the morning, we'll figure out where we're going and how to get there."  
  
"Uh, Colonel, no offense, but I'm wondering if maybe we oughta split up. Be harder to find small groups than one our size."  
  
"Well, I have no control over you and your men, Platt. What you say could be true - then again, a group our size has a little better chance if we are found. But it's up to you. Discuss it with your men. Whatever you decide."  
  
"Hey, Colonel, I know what we want to do. I just don't want you getting yourselves in trouble because you have to deal with us as well as your own men."  
  
Hannibal smiled in the dark. "Platt, if that were my concern, you'd still be back there with Tommy."  
  
The men quickly gathered the few supplies they had, double-checking their weapons. BA stepped over to Peck. For a long moment they looked at each other.  
  
"Problem, BA? Peck?"  
  
"No, Hannibal. I just..." BA stood for another moment before taking a deep breath and sitting down with his back to Peck. "C'mon, man."  
  
Hannibal watched, puzzled, as Peck also hesitated. Only when Ray stepped over, offering to help, did he nod and, with Ray holding his leg, push himself forward. Ray helped BA up and they stood for a moment, adjusting.  
  
"That going to work, BA?" Hannibal realized he was holding his breath. If they couldn't do this...  
  
"Yeah, I'm okay. How bout you, Lieutenant?"  
  
"Yeah." Peck's voice was shaky, but he was holding on.  
  
Hannibal frowned, but let it go. "Okay, then. Let's head out."  
  
They moved slowly up the hill, Hannibal taking point this time, wanting to know what was coming. Murdock came next, with Russo to help him over the rough spots. BA and Wiley followed, Wiley giving BA a hand when he got off-balance. Then Platt with Shipley, and finally Ray, watching their backs. The climb was steep, and Hannibal tried to move them sideways up the mountain, tried to make it as easy as he could. Behind him there was little sound, a slip now and then on the mud, a gasp from Peck as he tried to stay quiet. But not a word, not a curse, not a whisper.  
  
They kept climbing like that for maybe twenty minutes before Hannibal came to a stop. In front of him was a small bomb crater, with a few small trees trying to grow. There was enough room in and around the crater for all the men, and it would provide a good defensive position if needed. They would stay here for the rest of the night.  
  
Slowly the rest of the men moved up, and each one moved to find a spot for themselves. Hannibal watched as Wiley and BA helped Peck get settled. And again, he noticed how quickly BA moved away, and how Peck was almost dismissive with Wiley. He looked around at the other men.  
  
With the exception of Ray, who had stationed himself a few yards down from the plateau to keep watch, all the men were settling in for the night. A cold night, as they all were up in the mountains. And yet, they weren't positioning themselves to take advantage of each other's body heat. Each and every one of them was keeping as much distance from the next as possible. He frowned when Wiley started to lay down and his foot touched Russo. Both men jerked, and Wiley shook his head before shuffling another few inches away.  
  
He looked over at BA. He was the farthest away of any of them, save Ray, and had yet to lay down. He had his knees up by his chest and was staring down at the ground. Hannibal quietly moved over and sat down next to him. BA shifted a little, and then looked at Hannibal, shaking his head.  
  
"Talk to me, BA."  
  
"Don't know whatcha mean, Hannibal."  
  
"You and Peck. The others." When BA didn't respond, Hannibal sighed. "It's harder than you figured, isn't it?"  
  
"Well, goin uphill, yeah, but I think..."  
  
"I'm not talking about that. The contact. Human touch. It's not just you, BA. Take a look around. They're all going through it. It was just tougher for you two. And it'll be hard on Ray, and Wiley, and Cook. Harder still for Peck. How long ago did we get taken, BA? Two months, a little more?"  
  
BA nodded. "You know that as well as I do."  
  
"Yeah. And in all that time, there was no physical contact with anyone, except to give Murdock a hand when he needed it on the trail. For Platt's men, it's been even longer. No physical contact, no talking to each other, not even being in sight of everyone most of the time. Suddenly we're all here, close. Real close. And it feels too close because we've gotten used to being so alone."  
  
BA angrily pulled out a fistful of grass and tossed it back down. "I ain't one for...you know that, Hannibal. But carryin him, I just...I just wanted to git away from him. Not just him. All of em." He looked up at the moon. "It ain't right, man. Oughta be glad to have people to talk to, glad to have someone slap you on the back, or shake your hand. But all I want is for them to stay away."  
  
"It'll get better, BA. There's bound to be repercussions, other things happening that won't seem right. I'll have a talk with the others. We all need to realize what's happening, know that we're not going off the deep end. It'll get better."  
  
BA nodded, and Hannibal stood carefully. The day was taking its toll on him, but he wanted to get to the others before he called it a night. Men slept better when they knew what was going on.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal squeezed his eyes shut tight, opened them, blinking. He hadn't slept much, even after he'd talked to the men. He knew they understood, at some level, but their thinking was screwed up. He'd seen these things before, Korea, here. He accepted it. As long as they understood this was 'normal', they'd be okay.  
  
He looked at the map again, searching further for any landmarks he could recognize. He'd found the place on the river where they must have crossed, tried to remember what direction they'd gone from there, how long they'd walked. Wiley, coming off guard duty, crouched down next to him. They went over the map again and again, and finally Hannibal was satisfied he knew their location.  
  
Wiley found their destination. The Special Forces base camp at Mai Loc, about 7 klicks away. If they were lucky, it would take them maybe ten days to two weeks to get there. With more luck, they'd be found by friendlies before that.  
  
With a miracle, they'd all make it.


	7. Chapter 7

**September 1969**  
  
Hannibal finished tying his boot and let his foot drop heavily off the corner of the bed. He pulled a cigar from his pocket and carefully lit it. He blew out the match with satisfaction. The tremor was almost gone.  
  
He moved into the hallway, away from the thick hospital smell of the ward. Wiley was just going stepping into the shrink's office; he stopped and they nodded briefly. The last hurdle they all had to jump before they could get out of here. They'd all been cleared otherwise.  
  
Almost all, anyway.  
  
"Could be worse," Hannibal said, softly. "Could be worse."  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal pushed us pretty hard the second day. Didn't blame him. The gooks were all over the place, so we had to move when we could, no matter how tired we were, just to make sure they wouldn't find us hiding. Praying the whole time.  
  
I was a little worried about Platt and his men. We didn't know them, but they seemed okay. Well, pretty much. Platt reminded me of Hannibal. He took care of his men. He listened to them. Russo and Cook, they seemed like good ol' boys, like me and Ray. And they knew what they were doing. But Shipley... I felt bad for Shipley. I guess he was a favorite target of Chow's before they got to our camp.  
  
Like, we split up the bag of fruit for our noon meal; it was mostly rotting, but damn, it tasted good. Hannibal and Platt, they made sure everybody ate it slow, in case it didn't go down too well, but I guess we were all so used to eating garbage by then, it didn't matter. Shipley, he ate just a little bit of his, and the rest he hid in his pocket. I watched him the rest of the day; he'd sneak a little piece out and eat it every time we stopped. Everybody saw it, I think, but nobody said anything.  
  
I mean, everybody had their quirks. Figures, I guess.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal wandered out toward what passed for a patio. It only took a moment for Hannibal to see him, off in the corner, sweating it out with a set of weights. He watched as BA finally dropped the barbells in the sand and grabbed a towel, rubbing down his arms. Wiley came out of the far door. The two men talked for a minute, then Wiley wandered around the corner, and BA headed inside.  
  
For his turn.  
  
Hannibal remembered what he'd told BA, seemed like years ago.  
  
"There's bound to be repercussions..."  
  
*****  
  
That third night, Hannibal sent Ray and Wiley out scroungin. I think that was the worst night I had, even worse than when we first broke out. They both knew what they was doin, and Lord knows, we needed the food, but still...  
  
Hannibal was real strict with the both of em. Told em over and over, one was to watch while the other one scavenged; kept sayin don't rush it. And if they couldn't get back to us, they was to keep goin. I know neither one of em liked that, but better to split up and meet at Mai Loc than get themselves killed.  
  
But they made it back okay. Took em a while, cause we had another damn bunch of gooks come by. I could tell it scared Hannibal. I know he was afraid Ray and Wiley wouldn't realize Charlie was there, but they'd seen em even before we did.  
  
Man, what a feast we had that night. Couldn't cook anything, cause the ground was too rocky to dig in a fire, and we couldn't have an open flame up there, course. But didn't really matter, cause it was all tuber things and nuts. We cleaned the mud off as best we could, and Wiley told us to crush the nuts up and sprinkle em over them tubers like pepper - man, that was good.  
  
That was good...  
  
*****  
  
Ray was chatting with a couple of the nurses in the hallway. Hannibal stopped short, watched. Ray shouldn't even be here. Two tours, two extensions...he should've been back home long ago. But he wouldn't go.  
  
"Who'd watch after these snot-nosed kids then, Hannibal?" And he'd laugh.  
  
The shrink came out in the hall, Ray turned, smiled, and followed him back into the office.  
  
Ray was short. Real short. And he would go home this time. That was a promise.  
  
*****  
  
I could've killed him. I don't even know for sure how long he'd been doing it. Probably from the first. I couldn't believe the others would've gone along with it, especially BA, but then again, that little shit could talk the wings off an angel. And, if I was honest, had he said the same thing to me those first couple of days, I probably would've gone for it, too.  
  
But like I say, when I found out he was handing over his share of the noon meal to whoever had been toting him around, I just...He said he didn't need it as bad as the guys "doing the dirty work". That's how he put it. Even started apologizing because he'd only been able to "work it" for the one meal, and not everyone had gotten something. Like it was some kind of deal he'd reneged on.  
  
Seems like he saw everything as a business deal.  
  
At least he made sure Hannibal didn't see what was going on. I think he knew the trouble it would cause. I guess that's why I agreed not to say anything. Not only did Hannibal have enough on his mind, but it just would've caused big problems among the rest of the guys.  
  
We had enough problems.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal was supposed to go see Murdock today. Reynolds, Murdock's CO, wanted a 'second opinion'. Like Hannibal was qualified. Then again, Hannibal had been there.  
  
He'd seen it coming.  
  
He stopped short when he saw Murdock's bed was empty. A nurse smiled, told him the doctor was with Murdock, but he could come back later. As he turned and walked away, he was ashamed at the sense of relief he felt.  
  
*****  
  
Shipley was crying that night. I figured he was just letting off steam. Tried to keep it quiet, but I heard him. I was sleeping right next to him. Well, as close as he'd let anyone, anyway. Some of the guys were getting over that, just like Hannibal said, but Shipley still wasn't ready. I wasn't real fond of it, myself. Ray and Wiley, and Platt, and Cook - they didn't seem to mind anymore. Russo was coming round, just like BA - slow. Peck didn't really have much choice, but I don't think he liked it, either. Then again, I don't know if it was the contact, or the pain, or just being tense about being carried around like that. He sure didn't like that, I know for sure. Guess I can't blame him. It got kinda rough on him, with that knee so sore and then the guys couldn't help it when they slipped, or banged into a tree. Trees are too damn close in a place like that. Cook almost dropped him one day; I thought he was gonna cry, he was so upset about that, kept apologizing to Peck.  
  
Well, everybody was kinda high-strung.  
  
That's why I didn't think anything of it, that night. When Shipley was crying. I thought he just needed to let off some steam, y'know? I mean, I'd come close a couple of times, myself. But instead, I'd just go off into my head, y'know? I used to do that in the camp, because I was supposed to be nuts. But if I actually listened to what Chow was saying, I know I would've done something, and he'd know I still had all my marbles, so the only way not to react was not to listen, so I'd go off into my head.  
  
That's what I thought Shipley was doing, though. Just letting off steam. So I went back to sleep. Gave him his privacy, y'know?  
  
Then the next morning, he was gone. We looked all over, but that jungle...and with the rain...  
  
I thought he was just letting off steam...  
  
*****  
  
"It's all right, Wiley. Only a couple more of these sessions and we'll be done. Not the best way to start the morning, I know, but..."  
  
The doctor smiled as the door clicked shut.  
  
*****  
  
Things changed after Shipley.  
  
It threw everybody off. Platt, especially. He said he didn't even know how long Shipley had been a POW. He was there when Platt and the others arrived at the first camp. He thought he was just quiet by nature.  
  
Hannibal talked with Platt for a long time after we got back from looking. A long time. I don't know if it did any good, but Platt got up the next morning and just got down to business. He was all business after that. Well, until the very end, anyway.  
  
It hit Murdock hard. Real hard. I guess he'd heard Shipley crying and didn't do anything about it. I don't think it would have made any difference. But Murdock thought he could've saved the guy. But how was he to know? Then Murdock started talking about Rib-Eye and Handy. Hadn't done that before. But then, even when we needed to be quiet, he'd start whispering about them. We came really close to losing everything a couple times. Hannibal was really at his wit's end with him.  
  
I think part of the problem was that ass-backward scheme of Peck's, having Murdock act like he really was nuts. You know, you let loose a little bit, and then when the pressure hits, it's easy to let go a little more. And then a little more. Pretty soon, you get so far out there, you can't find your way back. Peck opened the damn door for him.  
  
Peck just shut down. Wouldn't talk unless someone asked him something straight out. Which nobody did much, frankly. Probably just as well. There was a lot of resentment building there. Hauling his ass around after losing a guy like Shipley. Most of us knew damn well he'd had something cooked up back there with Angel. Look how Hannibal and BA had to make him come out of that cage.  
  
Anyway, Shipley kinda...I mean, it could've been any one of us, really.  
  
*****  
  
"It won't be much longer, Sergeant. You've been very cooperative. I know this isn't easy, but I think you'll be able to get back to your unit very soon. We just need to get over this last hurdle..."  
  
*****  
  
We'd been on the move for eight days. I know, cause I kept track. It was startin to get dark, and we heard em. Choppers. Off in the distance, but they was there. And they was ours.  
  
Funny thing was, most everybody just listened for a second, and then went about their business. Like nothin special was happenin. Me, too. I don't know bout the others, but to me, it didn't matter, cause they was still too far away. They weren't comin overhead. They weren't even comin our way. Maybe we shoulda been glad, cause it meant we was closer to the base camp, but we already knew that.  
  
Didn't mean a thing.  
  
Cept to Hannibal. He listened a little longer, I guess. Got that smile on his face, like he does when he knows things is startin to come together. Said one more day.  
  
I think, for the first time maybe, the guys didn't really believe him.  
  
*****  
  
"What you've told me has really been a big help in dealing with the other members of your team, Ray. Very helpful. But now I need to know..."  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal, BA, and Platt got back to our little camp a couple hours after dark. We'd stopped earlier than usual that day, and Hannibal took the two with him to scout ahead. He was sure they'd find a place where we'd be able to signal a chopper. We all figured if they didn't, it would mean another day or more tramping through the mountains. The jungle was thinning out a little, but not much. We were wet, cold, and about as close to exhaustion as any group of people could get, I guess. If Hannibal hadn't come back with good news, I'm not sure what would have happened.  
  
I could tell by the grin on his face that he'd found what he was looking for. He pulled out the map, and we studied it carefully with the dimming flashlights. We had four left, and Hannibal had us pull apart two of them, to get the reflective part out. We'd use those to signal the choppers. The only bad news he had was to remind us that it might take a day or more to actually make contact. But that was all right by me. It would mean only having to move camp around that area, not tramping for hours at a time.  
  
I think everyone had a hard time getting to sleep that night. Our hopes had gone from bottom of the barrel to top of the world. Wish I'd remembered what my mother always said.  
  
Never get your hopes up...  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal stared up at the ceiling, watching the last light of the sunset. Tomorrow he had his final session with that shrink. If he 'opened up'. He had to wonder if this was the first time that doc had been in combat. Hell, he looked like he was just out of school...  
  
Another day gone by and he hadn't spoken to any of his men. Seen them, acknowledged them. Hadn't spoken to them. Told himself he wanted to give them time; time, not to be weak, but to not have to be strong. So he didn't talk to them, and that was okay. They knew he was there, that it was their call.  
  
Ray, Wiley, BA, even Murdock. They all knew.  
  
He closed his eyes. All but one.  
  
*****  
  
I knew the men were getting near the end of their rope. I'd pushed them hard all the way; maybe too hard, I don't know. I just kept thinking, every day we were out there, the better chance of getting recaptured. And I had a pretty good idea what would happen if we were. So I pushed them.  
  
Shipley was...a mistake. I feel bad about it, but I'm not going to break out the sackcloth and ashes, either. I wish it hadn't happened; I wish Rib-Eye and Handy had made it, too. But there isn't anything I can do about any of them. Shit happens in a war.  
  
As for the extraction...I take full responsibility for that, Doc. It was my call.  
  
My fault.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal looked up at the overcast sky above Nha Trang and calmly lit his cigar.  
  
He saw it like it was yesterday. They'd scouted around the perimeter, and they were positive there were no NVA or VC in the area. Waited, hours, keeping a watch not only for the enemy, but for the choppers.  
  
The men were tired. Excited, but tired. They heard the choppers, got out the reflectors and the two flashlights that were still working. Anything that might draw the attention of the big birds.  
  
It wasn't their fault; they were all focused on their salvation.  
  
The choppers passed over them, and it seemed they hadn't seen the signals. And then suddenly, there they were, coming in slow, a little lower. Hannibal sent Platt and Wiley out, just to the edge, so the choppers would see they were Americans.  
  
And then they were landing, and the guys started running. Cook and BA grabbed Peck and ran with him between them. No time for gentleness then. The guys already aboard reached down, pulled Peck up, then BA...  
  
And then all hell broke loose. Cook went down, his body practically cut in two. Platt and Russo started yelling, everyone was firing at the tree line, the choppers took off...  
  
It was no one's fault. That's what they kept telling him.  
  
The rest happened in a blur. He remembered Peck, shaking on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. He remembered Platt and Russo, swearing softly, crying.  
  
And he remembered Wiley, leaning over Peck, saying something. Peck quit shaking and closed his eyes. He never said a word, not the whole trip.  
  
They landed at Mai Loc, and within what seemed like minutes, Peck was on another chopper, headed for the 18th Surgical Hospital at Camp Evans. The rest got a quick check-up by the medics, and then were on their way back to Nha Trang. Debriefings, doctors...the shrinks...  
  
Now it was done. Mostly. Murdock would be staying in the hospital a little while longer, for "observation", but Hannibal figured within a month, tops, he would have his full team back together again.  
  
He closed his eyes. All but one.  
  
 **July 1976**  
  
Hannibal stood, and moved to the window. The sun was bright, the sky cloudless. He turned and looked back at Wiley, who was watching him.  
  
"What did you say to Face, on that chopper?"  
  
Wiley swallowed hard, and his eyes got bright.  
  
"I told him...I told him, 'Congrats. You just killed another one.' "


	8. Chapter 8

**October 1969**  
  
"You mean, he's AWOL?"  
  
The clerk almost cowered as he looked up at the three men standing in front of him. Both sergeants could've had him for breakfast, but it was the look on the colonel's face that scared the bejeezus out of him. And after what happened last week...  
  
"Uh, no, no, Sir, he's not AWOL. He's still on sick leave, Sir."  
  
"Then where is he? He's supposed to be in Cam Ranh Bay."  
  
"Yessir, he was, but uh, well, being on leave, he could go just about anywhere, Sir. He just had to have the okay of his doctor. And I have that paperwork right...here, Sir." He pulled the forms from the file and handed them over to Hannibal, who had to restrain himself from yanking them out of the corporal's hand. He ran through the paperwork with a practiced eye, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened.  
  
"So, this doctor of his gave him carte blanche to travel all over hell?"  
  
"Uh, if that's what the form says, Sir, I mean, not hell, Sir, I mean..."  
  
This time Hannibal didn't bother with restraint. He slammed the papers on the corporal's desk and stormed out, followed closely by BA and Wiley.  
  
*****  
  
Saigon. "The Paris of the Orient". Peck smiled bitterly as he looked up and down the wide, tree-lined street, filled with fancy stores, fashionably dressed women, prosperous men. All slant-eyed gooks.  
  
Paris, indeed.  
  
He turned carefully away from the balcony, and moved back into the villa, trying not to catch the crutches on the numerous pieces of furniture. Apparently, the owner was some kind of collector; the place looked more like a miniature museum than a home. But who was he to complain? It wasn't costing him a thing, and he'd gotten out of that god-forsaken hospital barracks. And everything else.  
  
He settled carefully into the deep couch, absently grabbing a fresh peach from the bowl on the coffee table. The new owner of his Caddy, Lam Thanh, had been more than happy to drop a few hints to the owner, so when Peck called, "acting on behalf" of the old royal family, the villa had practically been handed to him over the phone. And the caretaker could hardly do enough for the guest of such a prestigious family. Yeah, Smith had done him a bigger favor than he'd imagined, making him give up that car.  
  
Smith...  
  
The fly in the ointment. The thought of whom tainted the whole goddamn thing.  
  
*****  
  
"So where do you think he's at, Hannibal?"  
  
"All I know for sure is he couldn't have left the country. Even he isn't that good."  
  
The three men sat around the table stuck in the far corner of the Delta Club. They'd spent a good share of the previous day searching Cam Ranh Bay, unsuccessfully. Hannibal would still be there if their current assignment hadn't demanded they return to Nha Trang.  
  
"Hannibal..." Wiley sighed, looked across the table at BA. When BA nodded, he took a deep breath and continued. "Hannibal, do you really want to find him? I know, I know, he's good at scrounging, and he knows his way around the bush, but...do you really want someone you don't trust on the team?"  
  
"Who said I don't trust him?"  
  
But do I really? Hannibal sighed. This was not a discussion he wanted to have. Not now. "Why don't you two check around? Go grab Murdock, and see if you can find some of these guys Peck did business with before. Maybe they'll have some ideas, some place he liked to go, someone else he knew."  
  
Wiley shook his head, and BA grumbled, but they rose from the table anyway. If Hannibal wanted to find Peck, nothing was going to stop him.  
  
"Oh, and guys - watch it if you talk to any of Wrenn's people." At the look both men gave him, he just shrugged. "Chalk it up to professional jealousy. Can't have Wrenn finding him first, right?" He grinned, but knew he wasn't fooling anyone.  
  
Hannibal ordered another beer after they'd gone. He had a lot of thinking to do.  
  
*****  
  
He felt naked. It was bad enough being literally hobbled by the bad knee, but having to go anywhere in Saigon unarmed made him jittery. The thought of depending on the White Mice for protection - yeah, right. Make every damn American a walking target to soothe the egos of the Saigon police in their spiffy white uniforms...  
  
He waited now in the backroom of a side street store. He didn't like the look of the place. Not at all. If it hadn't taken so long to work his way through the local underworld network, there was no way he'd go through with this, and absolutely no way he'd have come in here without being armed first. He could only hope his connections back in Nha Trang still considered him a friend. If not, his goose was cooked.  
  
The door to the back room opened and closed almost before he saw the man slip through. He tensed slightly, gripping the crutches. The man stopped a few feet away, apparently no more sure of Peck than Peck was of him.  
  
"Phan Bao send?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The man nodded, pulled open a large drawer. Peck moved over cautiously, looked at the array inside. Picked up what he wanted, examined it. Nodded, pulling out two small boxes to go with his selection.  
  
"You buy? You buy now?"  
  
"Yeah. I buy now."  
  
"Fifty."  
  
"Twenty."  
  
"Forty."  
  
"Twenty." Peck started closing the drawer.  
  
"Greenback only."  
  
Peck sighed. Same old, same old. Pulled his wallet slowly, opened it wide so the man would see he had one twenty dollar bill. The man frowned, but took it eagerly, just the same.  
  
"You go now. No come back."  
  
"You got that right." Peck waited until the drawer was closed and locked. Nodding to the man, he exited as quickly as he could, stopping only to check the alley before heading out.  
  
Tomorrow he had another trip to make. He didn't want to think about that one. Nor who it was for. But it had necessitated this little foray into the underbelly of Saigon, and that, in itself, turned his stomach.  
  
Shaking his head, he hailed a cyclo. All he wanted to do now was get back to the villa, have as hot a shower as he could stand, and then fix a stiff drink. With real alcohol. He finally managed a small smile. Later tonight he would be greeting a potential assistant. Someone arranged by the caretaker and her qualifications had been verified by Lam Thanh. A real physical therapist at a Saigon hospital until her father had come into disfavor with the government. Peck had never cared for the brothels around base, and hadn't really had time for, or interest in, a paid companion before, but now...His smile faded.  
  
Who was he trying to kid?  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal didn't normally drink a lot. He'd noticed, and ignored, that he was breaking that bit of normalcy quite often of late. Well, once they got back into action, that would stop. It was this hanging around, not yet cleared by the brass to go into the boonies. Stuck teaching wannabe's at the Recondo School.  
  
He ordered another beer, ignoring the look from the bartender.  
  
Screw 'em.  
  
He never should've let Peck go down to Cam Rahn Bay. He didn't care how over-crowded Nha Trang's facilities were; the lieutenant could just as easily stayed with the team while going through his therapy. But paper-shufflers were the same no matter what their specialty. Peck didn't exactly fight it, either.  
  
'And that was my fault.'  
  
Hannibal knew why the others were so mistrustful of him. Like Ray said, everything was a deal to Peck. He couldn't blame the rest for having their suspicions back at the camps. Hannibal wasn't exactly leaping to his defense, either. Not that he thought Peck would pull anything like Angel had, but he might have come close. Who knew what could've happened, if they'd been there much longer.  
  
He sipped the beer and grimaced. Remembered the "good stuff" Peck had handed him that night when they'd first met up. The first of many "treats" Peck had given him, and the team. And always managed to find something extra for himself, too. It had been a bone of contention between Peck and Hannibal. No matter how many times Hannibal told him to knock it off, the kid always found some way.  
  
"I couldn't just walk away from a deal like that, could I?"  
  
No.  
  
No, he liked to think he was a good judge of character. Usually. Peck may have been trouble to the more regimented COs, but he'd done a damn fine job for Hannibal. Just like all the others on his team. And if it hadn't been for Peck making friends with Lin...  
  
He gulped down the rest of the beer, ordered another.  
  
Screw em.  
  
*****  
  
Peck heard the bell ring outside the gate. He moved to the window, standing just behind the drapery so his silhouette wouldn't be seen from the street. He watched, outwardly calm, as Pin hurried across the courtyard. He couldn't see who was outside the gate, but a moment later, Pin had unlocked it and was bowing, albeit somewhat aloofly, as he allowed the guest to enter.  
  
Then Peck saw her. Her features obscured in the dim lights of the courtyard, he could see she was taller than most Vietnamese women. She was wearing the classic ao-dai, the long flowing jacket over pants. He squinted, looking more closely. A very expensive outfit.  
  
He shouldn't be surprised. She wasn't just any whore, after all. This, ladies and gentlemen, was a courtesan, a woman belonging to important men, men of stature.  
  
Men like himself.  
  
Right.  
  
As he watched her promenade (and there was no other word for it) across the courtyard, he felt a tremor run through his body. A woman of class. What would she say if she knew, if she had even a hint, that the man she would be sharing bed and board with was not a friend of royalty, was merely another Yankee pretender, not even of the same social class as her own family?  
  
Worse yet, what would she do if he could not...  
  
For a moment, he thought about sending her away. He could do those damn exercises without her help. And it wasn't as if he needed a woman. He'd gone a long time without one, ever since he met Leslie. He hadn't even had the desire for a woman since her. So why had he ever accepted Lam Thanh's offer?  
  
Appearances. Pure and simple. Appearances were everything in his world. And now this woman, a real woman, not some street hooker, could find out this "very important person" she would be tied to was...  
  
He heard Pin's familiar knock at the door. Turning, he took a deep breath and put on a confident smile.  
  
Show time.  
  
*****  
  
It had been Wiley's idea.  
  
"Think about it, guys. That Caddy was in primo condition, worth its weight in gold. No way Peck would sell it to just anybody. Would you? You know Peck - he'd want to make sure he gave a good deal to the right guy, something he could trade in on later."  
  
BA and Murdock were somewhat skeptical, but they had to agree, at least with the part about Peck using the car for later collateral. It was just the way he was - a deal was really a favor for a favor. Peck would've found just the right mark. And they certainly had had no luck with other avenues. Even grunts they knew had dealings with Peck claimed they'd never heard of him, or that they had only dealt with him in "official capacities". Peck's network was as tight as a virgin.  
  
So it was that they had waited outside the nightclub, in the pouring rain, cold and miserable, waiting to see who would come out and head for the Cadillac parked in front of the building. Only the picture of Hannibal's face if they came back with nothing kept them from giving up.  
  
Eventually, their misery was rewarded. A well-dressed man, accompanied by three or four equally well-dressed young women, came hurrying out of the nightclub. Before the group had a chance to climb into the Caddy, BA, Wiley, and Murdock were on them.  
  
Lam had proven to be as supposedly ignorant as all of Peck's contacts, but the guys were past any remnants of patience. Despite his continuing threats of dire consequences, Lam soon found himself being driven in his own car to the club where Hannibal waited. Only when he actually found himself inside a military establishment, with many curious and somewhat suspicious Yankees, did he assume a very calm and cold dignity.  
  
It took Hannibal more than a moment to understand the combined explanations of his three men. When he did, he also recognized that his men, well-intentioned as they may have been, had just kidnapped a Very Important Person. Saying a silent prayer, he stood, somewhat wobbly due the amount of beer consumed, and solicitously led Lam to a corner table, motioning behind his back for the others to move away.  
  
The trio of troublemakers moved to the bar and ordered drinks. They watched as Hannibal went into his spiel, and slowly the cold glare on Lam's face vanished, replaced by a speculative look. The three men relaxed, smiling and winking at each other. Peck may have been a master of the deal, but Hannibal was definitely no slouch.  
  
After nearly an hour of intense conversation, which included enough glances at the three cohorts at the bar to make them nervous, Lam and Hannibal stood, shaking hands. Lam gave them one last contemptuous smile before he left.  
  
Hannibal stepped to the bar, ordering ginger ale.  
  
"Well, Hannibal? You work out a deal?" Wiley winked, confident of his CO.  
  
Hannibal smiled. "Oh, yeah. And you three are going to be very busy for the next week, tuning and cleaning a certain vehicle to the owner's satisfaction."  
  
"Aw, Hannibal..."  
  
"It's that or have a long talk with the base commander and the chief of police. Any more arguments?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Good." Hannibal took a long swallow of the soda, grimacing as it met with the beer taste still in his mouth.  
  
"Uh, Colonel? What about the lieutenant?" Murdock spoke hesitatingly. He could deal with the car if he knew it had at least given Hannibal what he was looking for.  
  
"Let's just say, while you three are performing your community service, I will be taking a trip. To a certain villa in Saigon."


	9. Chapter 9

**October 1969**  
  
Dao Quy woke that morning, unsure at first where she was. She looked up at an ornate ceiling, just visible in the early sunlight. Then she heard the sigh, soft, almost wistful, beside her. She smiled, remembering now where she was.  
  
And who she was with.  
  
She looked cautiously over her shoulder. He was still asleep; he would be for some time yet. She knew that, because she had been very careful when she dosed his drink.  
  
She had nothing against the young American. No more than she had against any of them. But this was to be a long assignment, not just a ten day leave or even a weekend. She wanted to know who this man was.  
  
She slid out of the bed and moved casually toward the dresser. She didn't bother putting on a robe; she actually reveled in these stolen moments of freedom. And should the young man awake, it would seem as though she had only just gotten up herself. She stopped in front of the full-length mirror. Though not vain, she did take pride in her appearance, and she looked at her reflection more with an assessing eye. She was not young anymore, not by Vietnamese standards, but she was not unhappy with what she saw. And, with any luck, she would not have to worry about her looks for much longer.  
  
She moved quickly now to the dresser and began rummaging quietly through the various items on top. She didn't see a wallet, not on top and not in the drawers; her young man was smart, at least. She paused long enough to make sure his breathing was still even and steady, then crouched down and felt under the dresser. Smiling, she carefully peeled the tape away and pulled out her prize.  
  
She immediately checked for cash - she wasn't a thief, but the amount of cash these Americans carried around usually gave her a good indication of how well she would be treated. She frowned slightly. A single twenty, but it was American greenback. She cocked an eyebrow. Not only smart, but apparently not worried about the authorities, either. Well, with his connections, he shouldn't be.  
  
His ID only verified what she'd been told. Max Butler, with a business card from an American company. She sniffed derisively. Another one making money off her country's sorrow. Well, she'd known that. No point in getting angry about it now.  
  
She was about to put the wallet back when she noticed the slight bulge in the back. One more glance at the bed and she carefully pried a fingernail into the small slit. She pulled out three more ID cards and frowned.  
  
Templeton Peck, US Army, lieutenant. William Neufeld - another businessman? Darryl Kirkley, attaché to the American embassy.  
  
They all had his picture on them.  
  
*****  
  
"They want what?!" Hannibal stared angrily at his CO.  
  
"You heard me. A full investigation into the circumstances at the camp and the escape. And yes, your lieutenant is prominently mentioned." Colonel Darnell glared back at Hannibal.  
  
"Platt? I can't believe..."  
  
"No, he didn't bring it up. But those buddies of his at Cam Ranh Bay did. They weren't real happy about you breaking things up there."  
  
"I was supposed to let a bunch of jarheads beat the shit out of a wounded man?"  
  
"No, but Cook and Shipley were these guys' friends. Good friends. You can't blame them for wanting to lash out at something, and Cook did get killed saving Peck's ass. A lot was probably said to their CO that shouldn't have been listened to, but..."  
  
"But Peck's got a rep."  
  
"Now, don't get all bent out of shape. You know nothing's going to come of it. We've already gotten everyone's statements, and there's absolutely no proof Peck did anything he shouldn't have. And no way is the Army going to let those jarheads pull any bullshit."  
  
"Then why go through the dance? You know what this could do to his career."  
  
Darnell sighed. "It won't do it any good, but then again, I'm going to make damn sure his involvement with this Lin fella is just as prominent as any allegations against him. Hell, man, even the guys who brought the whole thing up said if Peck hadn't made the first move, you guys wouldn't have had a chance to get out. And you know as well as anyone there's no proof he collaborated or even had plans to. Frankly, they should be giving the sorry bastard a medal."  
  
"Instead..."  
  
"Instead, some people he's not made too happy back here have come forward, with a few stories of their own to tell. Doesn't make him look any too pure, if you know what I mean."  
  
"Stories. These other people have any proof?"  
  
Darnell laughed out loud. "Hannibal, Jesus, I'm not stupid. You think I don't know what's going on in my own camp? I've heard about Peck's 'escapades' almost since he got here. If anyone had any proof, he'd have been in Leavenworth a long time ago."  
  
"One of these people wouldn't happen to be Jim Wrenn, would it?"  
  
"No, surprisingly, Jim hasn't said a word, one way or the other. And I'd leave that well alone." Hannibal raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Darnell continued. "Now, I'm giving you your leave, so you go find Peck. Bring him back here if you need to, or leave him wherever the hell he is. As long as he shows up after his medical leave, I don't really care. This whole camp thing will blow over, but you tell that man of yours to watch his back from now on. A cat only has nine lives, and he's about used his up."  
  
*****  
  
When she first came through the door, he had almost told her it was all a mistake. She looked like a queen, haughty benevolence written all over her. She had looked around the room, and he could almost see her adding up the value of the furnishings. Did she know he didn't own any of it? What exactly had she been told? He felt his smile falter, and forced it back firmly in place. Remember what she was. And who he was - the client, the one she had to please. What was Lam Thanh had called her? Mia chao.  
  
A rented wife. In it for the long haul, but without any promises from him. Her only function to serve him, make him happy. He knew what she was hoping for. If she pleased him, he might take her back with him when he left Saigon. Might even marry her, take her back to the World.  
  
He blinked, startled. Pin had been introducing her, in that formal gook manner they had. Dao Quy. He looked at her more closely. Brown skin with a hint of gold, dark ebony hair, deep crescent eyes, lips that pursed without pouting. Delicate. Like her name.  
  
Dao Quy. Precious peach blossom.  
  
Remember what she was.  
  
He realized Pin was waiting to be dismissed, and he nodded almost curtly. As the door closed behind the caretaker, Dao Quy had reached behind her and picked up a small valise.  
  
"If you please, Mr. Butler, I shall put my things away. I will call for the rest of my belongings tomorrow."  
  
Tomorrow. Of course. After he decided if she would be staying or not. After he decided if she was worth keeping. If not, she was gone and Lam Thanh would find him another. The deal was between the two men. She had no more say in the matter than he had had when Leslie...  
  
"Sir?" She had been waiting for him. Where would she sleep? In his bed, of course. He had no choice in that. Anything else would surely get back to his 'benefactor'. Couldn't have that. The gooks were very conscious of such proclivities and he couldn't afford to lose the man's respect. He was well aware that they would be on even footing after this; to do anything...irregular would put him at a distinct disadvantage.  
  
He nodded toward the bedroom. "You can put your things in the smaller dresser. We'll talk for a bit after you're settled."  
  
Dao Quy had bowed slightly and moved into the bedroom. Peck headed for the bar and poured two glasses of wine. When she came back out, he nodded to the glasses and maneuvered his way to the sofa. He had watched, approvingly, as she quickly brought the glasses over, carefully handing him the first glass.  
  
He smiled at her, and they began to talk. He had coaxed her history from her, despite the typical Vietnamese resistance to putting themselves center stage. He was good at that. Always had been. He knew, of course, that there were details she'd left out. He didn't force the issue. Life - and the war - caused people to make practical choices, without regard to wants or wishes. He knew not to sympathize, but only to nod with understanding, acceptance.  
  
If only she knew how much he really understood.  
  
She began to ask about his life, his 'business'. Gentle inquiries, but he started getting anxious. He had his cover story, of course, but there was something about her, something that made him want to tell her the truth. She was practiced at this. She was a pro.  
  
Remember what she was.  
  
He was getting nervous. The more they talked, the closer he came to betraying himself. And yet, to end the conversation meant going from the frying pan into the fire. He had stood with some difficulty; sitting for so long had made him stiff. Immediately she was beside him, assisting, offering to massage the knee.  
  
He'd sidestepped that easily. She must be tired, and he thought just moving around would loosen it up. He suggested she go to bed, and he would join her shortly. She had hesitated, then obediently left him. He took his glass and the bottle of wine, lacing his fingers around them as he moved, and sat on the patio, watching the lights of Saigon.  
  
He wasn't sure how long he'd sat out there, drinking quietly, steadily. He was aware of her coming out, taking the glass, replacing it with tea. Delicious tea. He couldn't remember having had that kind before.  
  
He remembered going into the bedroom, leaning on her shoulder, favoring the leg, and yet feeling a strange lethargy. He felt her removing his clothes; it felt somehow undignified, and yet he gave in. He felt the softness of the mattress, and the shifting as she climbed into the bed beside him. Beside him, but not too close.  
  
That night, it was exactly where he wanted her.  
  
*****  
  
Dao Quy carefully replaced the wallet and moved back to the bed. There was a chill in the air, and she was glad to move under the sheets. His body felt warm and pleasant next to hers. He was on his side, and shifted slightly, his arm bringing her close to him. Comforting  
  
She mentally shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. She thought she knew who her 'husband' was, but now...was he really connected with the royal family? And if not, did it matter? They were, after all, only figureheads now, even if many of her countrymen still honored them. But Lam Thanh was definitely within their circle, and it was he who had arranged everything. That was significant in itself. She knew of many mia chao, and most of them had had to worm their way into their soldier's life. For a man such as Lam Thanh to take the time and effort...  
  
Whoever Max Butler really was, he was important. And for that reason alone, she would have to make him happy. She would have to be a good 'wife', for however long she was with him. If he was happy, perhaps he would keep her, although she wasn't going to pin her hopes on that. But his happiness apparently mattered to Lam Thanh, and Lam Thanh could open many more doors - better doors - for her than her current employer.  
  
And if she couldn't make him happy, she at least had the knowledge of the wallet.  
  
And knowledge is power.  
  
Max - or whoever he was - mumbled softly in his sleep, and she shifted her attention. She reached across his chest, and held him softly, but firmly. He would probably sleep another hour, maybe a little more. She wanted it to be a good sleep, and she wanted to make sure the first thing he was aware of when he awoke was her presence.  
  
What would happen when he woke up, she wasn't sure. Even putting aside his many names, he was someone she didn't quite understand. Last night, he had seemed so confident, almost controlling. Until it was time to retire for the night. He became restless, and started complaining about his knee. She offered a massage, but he put her off. Very nicely, expressing concern that she, herself, must be tired, but she knew something was wrong. Rather than risk upsetting him further, she said no more but quietly went into the bedroom, made the bed ready, and waited, seated on the small stool at the foot of the bed.  
  
She'd waited some time before going to see what had happened. She found him sitting on the patio, a glass of wine held precariously in one hand. With a practiced smile, she took the glass and went into the kitchen. It was then she made her "special" tea. She felt little guilt; she'd often used this tea when her patrons became too...boisterous. In this case, she had only one goal in mind. To relax him, get him to sleep, and thus ensure he wouldn't suddenly decide to cancel the entire arrangement.  
  
It hadn't taken long before the tea took effect, and he allowed her to help him into bed. He made only a mild protest as she helped him undress, and she allowed herself the indulgence to discreetly look him over. Smiling with satisfaction as he drifted off to sleep, she had undressed and climbed in on the other side of the bed.  
  
Now she waited patiently for him to awake, and wondered what would happen then.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal stood by the jeep, staring absently at his duffle. This trip shouldn't be necessary. If he had just handled things differently that day, down in Cam Ranh Bay. If only...  
  
It had been Hannibal's suggestion. He noted the hesitation, waited it out, and, as he'd expected, first Ray, then BA, and finally, Wiley nodded their agreement. Ray was due to catch the Freedom Bird the next day, and it was only right, in Hannibal's eyes, that at least part of the celebration include Peck and Murdock.  
  
Murdock wasn't in his room, and they all knew where to find him. He'd taken it upon himself to keep an eye on Peck, and his doctors were encouraging that. Hannibal agreed the pilot needed something to take his mind off what had happened, but he wasn't sure this particular project was best. Murdock had enough problems without being associated with Peck's as well.  
  
Hannibal had heard the rumblings, the rumors. Seemed like half the base was ready to give Peck a medal and the other half wanted to lynch him. All depended on the uniform you wore. He hadn't known Platt and the others were Marines until they got to the hospital. Hard to tell anything about a man's service when they were all wearing those damn black pajamas. But he'd talked to Platt and Russo, several times, and though they were still angry about Cook, they didn't blame Peck. Could've been any of them.  
  
But Platt and Russo had been there. Seen it first hand. Hard to describe that to someone who hadn't been there. Especially when you didn't want to. So a reluctant story got spread by bits and pieces, and details added to fill the gaps, and speculations from people who knew Peck's rep. Next thing you know, sides were taken. Didn't matter who knew Peck or Cook, didn't matter what they thought of the men themselves; Peck was Army, Cook was jarhead. The lines were drawn accordingly.  
  
Hannibal wasn't aware how much, if any, of this had filtered through to Peck. He'd been to see the lieutenant a couple of times after the rest were discharged. He'd tried to shine Hannibal on, but it hadn't worked. That playful sparkle in Peck's eyes had changed to a hard glint, and any attempts by Hannibal to talk about what happened were quickly side-stepped.  
  
Murdock was well aware of the tensions, however. People in the psych ward seemed divided into talkers and brooders, and the talkers liked to talk a lot. After a couple of days of listening, Murdock, the brooder, came out of his shell and demanded to see Peck. What the two talked about, no one could find out; Murdock refused to tell even Hannibal.  
  
And that bothered Hannibal.  
  
At any rate, when Murdock wasn't in his room, the men headed immediately for a secluded corner of the patio area, where they knew Peck would be. He had found a safe haven on a slab of concrete where a small radio tower was housed. It afforded him a view of the beach, inaccessible to him with his crutches, and at the same time, allowed him the privacy he seemed to crave. The men rounded the corner, expecting to see him stretched out on his lounge, with Murdock close by.  
  
What they saw were the backs of at least a half dozen jarheads. Hannibal could see Murdock a few feet in front of them, fists raised. Just behind him stood Peck, leaning heavily against the wall, one crutch held like a baton, ready for battle.  
  
It only took one glance between them, and the three burly sergeants waded into the wall of Marines. Hannibal stood back, and, outwardly calm, lit a cigar. Much as he would love to bash some heads, he knew better than to get involved in a non-com brawl. Instead, he moved cautiously toward the fire hose he'd seen on a near wall.  
  
Despite the fact that his men were as well trained as the Marines, Hannibal knew they still weren't recovered completely from the camp, and neither Murdock nor Peck were in any condition to be of real help. Angrily wondering why the staff was so noticeably absent, Hannibal pulled the hose from the wall, and aiming it squarely at the mass of punching bodies, let it rip.  
  
It took only a moment's blast to knock the men to the ground. He saw BA and Wiley get up first, landing a couple of coup de grâce punches to the Marines trying to stand. Ray stood, helping Murdock up, and then turning to Peck, who'd slid gracelessly down to the ground.  
  
Hannibal dropped the hose and strode quickly to the nearest Marine, yanking him up. Glaring his best colonel glare, he made sure the Marine recognized the birds on his collar before speaking.  
  
"You want to explain to me why six Marines are attacking two hospitalized men? Or would you rather explain to your CO?"  
  
"It's all right, Colonel. There was no attack."  
  
Hannibal switched his glare to Peck, who had the grace to at least look uncomfortable.  
  
"No attack? What would you call this, Lieutenant? A welcoming committee?"  
  
"It was just a misunderstanding, Colonel. Really. Uh, mistaken identity. They thought I was him, and, and I am he as you are he as you are me and I am the walrus..."  
  
"That's enough, Captain." Hannibal was in no mood to humor Murdock, or put up with Peck's circumventions. He also knew that neither man was going to rat out the Marines. Murdock would back up Peck, and Peck apparently had his own reasons to want it dropped. Turning back to the hapless Marine in his grasp, he rasped, "You get your asses out of here, and if I see one jarhead anywhere near these men again, I'll come down on you so hard, you'll wish you were back in Khe Sanh!"  
  
Now, as Hannibal dumped his duffle in the back of the jeep and drove south from Nha Trang, he wished he could say it had ended there. But his own anger at the Marines, and Peck's stubbornness, had carried him.  
  
It had been right after that that Peck had disappeared.


	10. Chapter 10

**October 1969**  
  
She knew he was awake at the sudden tensing of his body. Carefully, but obviously, she sighed and snuggled in closer to him. She had slept with enough soldiers to understand their reflexes, and soldier or not, the sooner he recognized her, the better for both of them. She was surprised, however, when he tensed even more, and suddenly moved as if to get out of bed. Had it not been for his injury, he would have succeeded.  
  
He groaned and fell back on the bed, and Dao Quy quickly sat up, resting a hand lightly on his chest.  
  
"Shhh, lay still. The knee is not good this morning."  
  
Eyes closed, he shuddered slightly and mumbled, "Tell me about it."  
  
"Please wait. I fix. Promise." She smiled ruefully as she got out of bed. She hated the stilted English, but the Americans expected it, and it always boosted their egos when they were able to 'teach' her proper English so easily.  
  
She quickly found the small jar of ointment. It was not the usual preparation the American hospitals carried, rather a mix of fragrant and medicinal oils used in traditional Vietnamese medicine. Another reason her position at the hospital had been so easily compromised. Shaking away those thoughts, she took the jar and returned to the bed, quickly pouring a small amount into her palm and rubbing it into her hands, both absorbing the oil and warming it.  
  
"Please lay still. This will hurt at first, but will feel better much soon." Waiting for his approval, she looked up at his face. It was only when he quickly closed his eyes and nodded that she remembered her own nudity. Holding back a smile, she began gently massaging the swollen knee.  
  
The smile turned to a professional frown as her therapist training took over. The knee was swollen much more than it should be at this stage, and she knew immediately he hadn't been taking care of it. Where was his doctor, anyway?  
  
Kneading carefully, she ignored the soft moan and concentrated on her work. She worked steadily, gently. She moved slowly upward, just above the knee, easing the thigh muscles, releasing the strain on the knee. She could feel, as well as see, the tension melting away.  
  
Another soft moan. Not from pain this time.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she looked up at his face. His eyes were closed, but there was the slightest hint of a smile. She looked back down to her work, and, still massaging with one hand, reached for the ointment jar. Quickly pouring a bit more on her hands, she began kneading once again. Then, not even realizing she was holding her breath, she moved to the other leg.  
  
He tensed for a moment, but her deft hands kept moving, kneading, manipulating, caressing. Slowly he relaxed at her gentle touches. She moved again, this time sliding her hands softly up to his stomach, then chest. Always gentle, hands never completely leaving his skin. Up to his shoulders now, and, with soft pressure, and careful of his knee, she helped him roll to his stomach.  
  
Knowing he was nearly asleep, she slowly and ever so carefully moved one leg over his, so she knelt astride him. Again, he tensed, but this time she ignored it, pressing her hands, warm and soft, more firmly into the tight muscles. As she moved up his back, her tempo increased, ever so slightly. She felt his shoulders rise and fall more deeply, slowly reflecting the rhythm of her hands.  
  
Eyes half closed, moving into her own special world, she retraced her path down his back. Further.  
  
Further.  
  
He groaned beneath her, and slowly they moved so he was again facing her, his eyes, like her own, nearly closed. She felt him beneath her, and she slowly leaned forward, moistening her lips, slowly lowering her body to lie ever so gently on his, pressing her lips to his cheek, moving slowly across the unshaved surface until she felt his lips, moving hers slowly, pliant, ever so cautiously until finally he responded, as gently as she at first, then more urgently. Her hands reached up, grasping his shoulders, slowly running her body along his, then back again, feeling the friction, the heat, his hands moving up and down her body, grasping her, pulling her, kneading as she had done only moments before...  
  
He started to roll them over, but she quickly placed a hand on the sheets, shaking her head gently as he looked up at her, slowly sitting up, moving back. She felt him once again, this time moist and hot, and she pushed down, slowly, slowly, making herself go slow even as she felt his long shudder, and then they were one. She rose up, only to sink immediately down again, up, then down, faster and faster and she heard his breathing become ragged and she felt him hard and absolute inside her. Her own breath poured from her throat and he pulled her down, held her tight as she felt the white hot and she dug her fingers into his shoulders as his body shook, once, again, again...  
  
They slept, holding on to each other, until nearly noon.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal had driven through Cam Ranh Bay almost an hour ago, and only his determination to find Peck kept him from paying a visit to that jarhead CO. He would have laid a few facts down for that bastard. Not that it would matter. He knew, no matter what happened with the Marines, Peck's military career was over.  
  
Now Hannibal had to find Peck and make sure that was the worst that happened.  
  
It was a good seven-hour drive to Saigon; good meaning no roadblocks, mines, VC or other booby traps. He'd left Nha Trang just after noon, which meant he'd pull into Saigon a couple hours after dark.  
  
Not good.  
  
In the end, he stopped in Phan Thiet. There was a large military base there, and the town was relatively safe. Safer than the highway after dark, at any rate. He found a hotel catering to Americans and a bar not far from it. The worst thing he could do, of course, was to drink, considering where he was and where he was going.  
  
That didn't stop him. One thing Peck had definitely done - driven him to drink.  
  
He ordered the sorry excuse for a burger, which tasted a lot more like Airedale than Angus. He let the Scotch wash out his mouth, and sat back in his chair, watching the other servicemen. He was thankful he didn't see one jarhead. Mostly pilots from the 192nd.  
  
Though to be honest, pilots weren't exactly on his Top Ten list either. He believed Murdock when he said he didn't know where Peck was; not for one minute did he believe Murdock didn't know he was leaving. As much time as those two had spent together beforehand...then again, Peck knew Murdock had been with Hannibal a lot longer than he had, and he normally played things very close to the vest.  
  
Especially after what Hannibal had said.  
  
He downed the next glass of Scotch in one gulp, and stood up, throwing his money on the table. He decided what he needed was some fresh air. One step outside and he decided his hotel room would have to do. He made a note never to vacation in a fishing village.  
  
Ever.  
  
From the bed in his room, he watched the sky turn from violet to black through the grimy window. In a few minutes, all he could see was the halo from the street light below the window.  
  
Didn't matter. He was quite sure he wouldn't get much sleep tonight anyway. He could sleep any time, any place, out in the boonies. Had to. After all, out there all you had to worry about was getting your head blown off. Nothing to think about other than making sure it was the other guy it happened to instead.  
  
He liked battle. Not the killing and the dying but the challenge. And it was tangible. If all your guys got out alive, you won. Period.  
  
But this thing with Peck...  
  
Shit.  
  
What was it he'd said, way back when, about grabbing a cat by the tail? He puffed slowly on his cigar. Should've listened to his own advice.  
  
Although, in all fairness, none of his guys were exactly up for sainthood. He didn't know any SF guys that were. Fight hard, play hard. Real hard. Fistfights weren't uncommon, even among their own. Okay, so BA and Wiley tended to get a little carried away with that, but damn it. A fight was out there. Open. Some guy pissed you off, you beat the crap out of him. Or vice versa. Then it was done.  
  
Not with Peck. Nothing he did was straightforward. There was always an angle. Always.  
  
Hannibal shoved the window open and tossed the cigar. That's exactly what Hannibal had told him at the hospital.  
  
That, and more.  
  
Hannibal leaned against the window frame, staring into the alley that was his vista. He could blame his outburst on the aftereffects of the camp, the guys they lost, the confinement in the hospital, lack of action. Hell, he could find a hundred excuses.  
  
None of them worked.  
  
Wiley had been hauled in front of the Provost so many times he'd lost count; Ray came a close second. He wouldn't even think about BA. And each and every time, Hannibal had gone to bat for them. Never questioned why they ended up there. The fact was, they had, and they were his men. Period.  
  
And damn him, that was the whole problem with Peck.  
  
No matter how many times he saluted or called him colonel, no matter how many miracles he performed with supplies or perks he grabbed for the guys, or for Hannibal, Peck was not Hannibal's man.  
  
Peck belonged to no one but himself.  
  
*****  
  
She woke slowly, feeling warm, her mind not quite connecting with reality at first. She stiffened her muscles, relaxed, and moved closer to the warm skin that seemed to surround her.  
  
She hadn't felt like this in...  
  
She heard a small chuckle, felt the vibration under her arm, and looked up, smiling.  
  
"You remind me of a cat, basking in the sun." He chuckled again.  
  
Smiling wider, she raised up, resting on her elbow, and looked down at her 'husband'.  
  
"And you are like the cat that ate the canary - very, very smug." She bent down, kissed him softly on the lips. His hand came up, gently cupping the back of her head. Moments later, she was resting her head on his shoulder, thinking she could stay like this forever.  
  
"You should have sex more often, Dao Quy."  
  
She sat up, frowning. He grinned up at her.  
  
"It seems to improve your English dramatically. Another week, you'll be speaking like a Rhodes scholar."  
  
She blushed, and he laughed out loud before suddenly sobering. His words were stern, his voice soft.  
  
"That wasn't supposed to happen, you know."  
  
She nodded, not looking at him. "I know. But I don't know why."  
  
He sighed. "It's a long story. And undoubtedly boring."  
  
Her fingers drifted over his chest, contemplative, thinking of her own past. "I don't think I need to know unless you want to tell me. Some time. But it doesn't matter, does it? In this time, this place?"  
  
He tilted his head to the side, looking at her. She began to feel uncomfortable, thinking perhaps she had spoken out of place. Then he smiled, a small, wry smile.  
  
"No. No, you're right. No one can change the past, can they? Not any of it. But there are lessons to be learned from it."  
  
"If they are the right lessons. Learning that two plus two equals five does not make it right."  
  
This time he laughed and drew her down. She felt the muscles in his arms, holding her close.  
  
"You know what I think?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I think Lam Thanh found me a very smart 'wife'."  
  
They lay companionably in bed for a short while longer, until he declared he was starving, and noted that they did, after all, have things to do that day. Dao Quy immediately got up and helped him into the shower. Grabbing her robe, she hurried out of the bedroom and called Pin, instructing him to send for the rest of her things. She noted with satisfaction that he did not respond in the surly manner he had last night.  
  
Having taken care of immediate matters, she moved into the kitchen. Although it was late in the day for breakfast, she began preparing the pho with noodles, roasted peanuts, shallots, and other herbs. While that cooked, she picked through the fruit in the basket on the counter, noting that Pin had not been as discriminating as she would be when supplying the household.  
  
She had heard the shower shut off, and finished preparing the table before hurrying into the bedroom. She would also shower, and dress quickly; their breakfast should be ready by the time she was finished. She smiled drolly at the childish giddiness she felt.  
  
Their first breakfast together.  
  
The smile dropped as she entered the bedroom. Max was seated on a low stool in front of the dresser, his robe draped around him.  
  
In his hand was the wallet.  
  
"Come here, Dao Quy."  
  
Quietly, she knelt in front of him, on the floor. She pulled her robe discreetly around her. Now was not the time for coyness. She could see not only resignation, but disappointment, on his face.  
  
"If you're going to snoop, Dao Quy, you should learn to be more careful about putting things back."  
  
She looked at the floor. "I am sorry, Mr. Butler."  
  
"Did you find what you were looking for?"  
  
She had to make a decision now. Last night, he had been cordial, but distant. This morning...  
  
"I did not understand what I found."  
  
He sighed deeply, straightening on the stool. He stared at the ceiling for some time before looking down at her again.  
  
"You found the other IDs. Now you're wondering who I really am."  
  
"I am wondering who you want to be."  
  
He shook his head. "You and me both."  
  
He awkwardly began to get up from the stool, and Dao Quy immediately stood, taking his arm. She helped him over to the bed, where he sat down heavily, rubbing his knee. She waited.  
  
He reached over to the bedside table, pulled out a cigarette and lit it, staring at her through the smoke.  
  
"I have several enterprises I'm involved in. There are times when it's...necessary that the people involved know only what I want them to know about me. I think you understand."  
  
She nodded. Waited.  
  
"There's no reason for you to worry about it. You won't be involved in any of these...situations. Ever."  
  
She looked more closely at him. Ever?  
  
He smiled at her. Not reassuring her.  
  
Asking her.  
  
She smiled back. "Only this one, maybe?"  
  
He laughed out loud. She liked that sound. Very much.  
  
"You win. But this is the only one. Okay?"  
  
"Okay, Mr. Butler."  
  
"The name here is Max."  
  
"Max. Or Templeton? Or maybe William, or..."  
  
"You really are a vixen, there, Miss Dao Quy."  
  
"You should call me Bùn. That is what my family calls me."  
  
"Bùn? But..."  
  
"It is only to ward off the evil spirits. An old tradition."  
  
"Very well, Bùn. And you will call me..."  
  
"I will call you my faceman because you have so many - and all of them very, very nice."  
  
"Ah, and what of the evil spirits?"  
  
"They will never know which one to catch..."  
  
*****  
  
He sat on the couch, watching Dao Quy fuss around in the kitchen, preparing their lunch. She'd gone out first thing that morning, coming back loaded down with delicacies from the local market. Pin had been sent to accompany her, and Peck wanted to laugh at the look on his face as he hauled in the various bundles. Despite his upset, Pin had dutifully assisted in putting away the groceries before scurrying away to his more usual duties.  
  
She looked over at him now and smiled. He grinned back. She had protested when he insisted Pin go along, but he knew she was secretly pleased that he was concerned with her safety. And he was. She may know her way around Saigon, but she was also a beautiful woman in a city filled with soldiers. He was taking no chances. Not with her.  
  
His 'wife'.  
  
He sighed, turned to look out onto the patio. Yesterday, talking, learning about each other, getting comfortable, they'd seemed to fall into their new roles with such ease. It was like the girls at the orphanage, playing house. He'd gotten roped into their games when he was little, either as the son or the husband. Until he got old enough to realize little boys didn't play those games.  
  
But that's what he was doing now. Playing house. Granted, there were some additions to the way they played it at the orphanage. Very nice additions. But they were still playing. Which was okay. They both knew the ground rules. They both knew that in another month or so, the game would be over. He'd be healed up enough to go back to Nha Trang, and she...  
  
He didn't like to think about that. For either of them. He was strangely not comforted by the fact that Dao Quy wouldn't be standing around in bars, looking for the next john. He'd talk to Lam Thanh, make sure she was taken care of as much as possible. She was so young and intelligent - she shouldn't be in this business at all.  
  
But that was Vietnam now. Everything, from the war to jobs, even whom one married, was based on politics, and who was pissed off at whom.  
  
He had no delusions about his own future. Smith had made that perfectly clear, back at Cam Ranh Bay. Couple that with Wrenn's visit the day before that...  
  
He leaned back in the couch, stared up at the ceiling. How the hell had his life gotten so fucked up? Every time he thought he had things under control, something happened and it all went to hell. No matter how he worked it.  
  
Growing up, he kept being told he couldn't make things happen. Just be himself, and the right family would come along. If they didn't, it was because God had some other purpose for him.  
  
Right.  
  
At sixteen, long past the he's-so-cute-let's-adopt-him stage, he'd finally realized that God had dropped the ball. Things worked out so much better for him when he took an active hand in them.  
  
At least, until Leslie.  
  
He straightened on the couch. None of that mattered now. He was what he was, did what he did. The fates, or God, or something out of his hands had gotten him into this mess with Smith; he'd get himself out of it. He had no doubt his transfer papers would be waiting when he got back to Nha Trang. Wrenn had been pretty confident of that. Had to be, to propose what he had.  
  
He didn't especially want to be under Wrenn's thumb again. And he definitely didn't like this latest job. But, until he could find another unit, or a way back to the World, there weren't a lot of options. Of course, there was that one little hitch.  
  
Wrenn had planned to kill him.  
  
That was then. This was now. Wrenn had shown more than a little interest in the relationship between Tommy Angel and Chow. He also knew Peck had connections on both sides. Not by choice; just one of those things that happen when you deal with people who aren't high on scruples. But Wrenn wanted those connections. More than he wanted Peck, but it was a package deal and they both knew it.  
  
So far, he'd never dealt in drugs. Whether it was Sister Rose and her stern lectures, or just a general distaste for the people involved, he couldn't say. And he'd made a good enough living without delving into that world. That would change, tonight.  
  
He looked over at Dao Quy, busily chopping...something. This was definitely one of those situations she would not be involved in.  
  
Never.  
  
He smiled as she brought the bowls to the table, fussing about the poor quality she had found in the market.  
  
Time to play house.


	11. Chapter 11

**October 1969**  
  
Hannibal didn't get as early a start as he'd hoped for. A little matter of a raid by the local NVA in the pre-dawn hours. He'd spent way too long in the damp basement of the hotel before the all-clear was sent, and then he had to wait until he could get through the roadblocks. Fat lot of good those did - there was a fifty-fifty chance the guys manning them worked for the other side.  
  
He reached the outskirts of Saigon well after noon, a full twenty-four hours after leaving Nha Trang. He was tired, frustrated and hungry. Angry when he was reminded to turn in his weapons. He immediately headed for MACV headquarters - not to visit, but because it was the one area in Saigon he knew well. There were actually good restaurants there. He'd get a decent meal, find a hotel and then try to find Peck.  
  
He drove by the American Embassy, and immediately was reminded of one other very unpleasant aspect - the embassy, as well as many other buildings where Americans worked, was guarded by the Marine Security Guard. He wondered, as he dodged the sandbags lining the street, if these guys had heard about Peck.  
  
That's all he needed.  
  
It took some time to find a hotel, but after he'd gotten a decent room, and found a restaurant whose food was at least semi-familiar, he started to relax. And that was good. He definitely didn't want a replay of past events. He lit a cigar, and carefully pulled the paper out with Peck's address on it. He had no idea where it was, or how to get there. He looked up at the waitress, a young local woman.  
  
"Miss?"  
  
A few minutes later, he was making his way to the jeep, concentrating on the scrawled map the waitress had made for him. She warned him that the streets may or may not be open; he might have to take detours. He'd smiled ironically at that; he'd found himself on a lot of detours, mainly in Cambodia or Laos. He doubted Saigon would give him much trouble.  
  
He hadn't counted on the White Mice.  
  
He wasn't sure if it was the fact he was in uniform, or if these guys were just used to pushing everyone around. He only knew he wasn't allowed to find his own way around the mess; he was forced to take their detours. Every one of which seemed to lead to yet another blocked road.  
  
He tried to remain calm, unruffled, even as the sun moved further and further to the west. He would have preferred to have gotten this done before the nightlife started crawling out, but that apparently wasn't to be. Didn't matter. Kept telling himself that. Stay cool. Calm. He didn't want a repeat of the hospital. That was important.  
  
"But why?"  
  
That's what Wiley had asked him. Why was it so important he find Peck? Why did Hannibal want him back on the team?  
  
Why?  
  
Hannibal couldn't answer. Not in a way Wiley, or any of them probably, would have been able to understand. It was just in Hannibal's nature.  
  
He remembered, back when he was maybe nine or ten, he and his brother coming across a bunch of his friends in the back alley, behind the house. They'd been all excited, yelling, throwing sticks. Their target was a mangy looking mutt, cornered between the garage and the neighbor's fence, growling, snarling. He'd obviously been into the garbage can, looking for scraps.  
  
Just trying to survive.  
  
The two of them had made his friends leave, and then, with a warning look at Hannibal, his brother had gone on about his business. The dog remained in the corner, still snarling viciously. Hannibal had tried to calm it down, tried to make friends. In the end, the dog bit him and ran away, and Hannibal had to go through those damn rabies shots.  
  
Hannibal never did see that dog again. But he'd never blamed it.  
  
Just trying to survive.  
  
Hannibal had tried to rescue a lot of dogs since then, most not of the four-footed variety. It's why he went into the military, to begin with. He thought, what better way of helping people who just wanted to survive, live their lives, raise their families? Sometimes he just got bit all over again; sometimes it worked.  
  
He hadn't given up on Peck because, so far, he hadn't been bit.  
  
So far.  
  
*****  
  
Dao Quy listened to the low murmur of his voice from the other room, glad he was speaking low so she wouldn't hear, yet wishing she could, just the same. She knew this phone call had something to do with those things she wasn't to be involved with, and it worried her. Especially after she found the gun.  
  
She hadn't said anything about it. She hadn't been snooping this time, only putting her things away in the bedroom. An earring had dropped to the floor, and as she fumbled between the bed and the nightstand for it, she'd seen it, edging out between the mattresses. She knew he wasn't supposed to have it, knew he wouldn't have put it there unless he feared someone coming when he was most vulnerable.  
  
Knew he wouldn't want her to know about it.  
  
She pushed it back further under the mattress, just so it was out of sight, found her earring, and continued putting her things away. But the thought of it never left her mind.  
  
Now, she sat at the dressing table, brushing her hair, trying to ignore the low voice. Abruptly, it stopped, and moments later he was standing in the bedroom door.  
  
"You look beautiful."  
  
She turned to look at him, trying to smile back. He frowned, made his way over to her, the crutches making him ungainly. She hoped he would soon be rid of them; she was quite sure he had a graceful walk.  
  
"Bùn, I know you don't like this. I'm not real happy about it myself, but it's necessary. It's just...business."  
  
"I understand." She stood and put her arms gently around his waist. "I only worry, because of your leg. If anything..."  
  
"That's what I need your help with now. I need that bound up, tight. So I can leave these damn things here."  
  
She stepped away, frowning. "You cannot do that, my Faceman. It could damage it again."  
  
"I know, but it won't be for long. And the crutches would, well..."  
  
"You must not appear weak to your associates. I understand."  
  
Dutifully, she'd bound up his knee, and then, sensing his hesitation, had excused herself from the room. He came out shortly after, dressed in dark clothes, including a dark scarf around his neck. She could see the bulge in his jacket pocket. Outside a car horn sounded.  
  
"You have to go now?"  
  
" 'Fraid so. I, uh, don't know the area that well, so..."  
  
She nodded. She stepped over and reached up, kissing him gently on the lips. "Please be careful, my Faceman."  
  
He smiled, that cocky, confident smile she was growing to love. "Never fear. The proverbial bad penny." He laughed at her confusion before kissing her forehead. "Don't go to bed without me." Winking, he limped to the door and was gone.  
  
She went to the door, listening to him moving cautiously down the stairs, calling for Pin. Minutes later, she heard the cab drive away, and the villa was silent.  
  
Sighing, she went to the dining table and removed the dishes. They had eaten early, because of this 'appointment' of his. It only took a few minutes to clean up, even though she tried to draw it out as much as possible. She turned the radio on, but it was nothing but war news and she knew half of that was lies anyway. She sat on the couch, staring into space.  
  
How long she sat there, she wasn't sure. She knew the villa grew dark, and finally she stood and lit the lamp in the corner. She stepped out onto the patio, staring down into the courtyard, watching as Pin moved quietly about, lighting the four lanterns. They were old and somewhat worn, but it gave the courtyard a soft glow, and Dao Quy and 'her Faceman' had stayed out there last night, not talking, just sitting.  
  
Her reverie was broken when a jeep pulled up to the gate, and a man in American uniform stepped out. He looked up at the villa, then down at a piece of paper, before striding up to the gate and pulling the bell.  
  
She stepped back from the patio, behind the curtain, watching as Pin hurried to the gate. She could hear their voices filter up from below, but not clearly. She could tell the American was getting impatient. Pin could do that to you. Then she heard the American's voice loud and clear.  
  
"Templeton Peck. Dammit, I know he's staying here!"  
  
She didn't stop to think, immediately recognizing the name of the Army lieutenant from the wallet. She stepped quickly to the banister and called down to Pin. They exchanged a few quick words in Vietnamese, while the American looked up at her. Shaking his head, Pin opened the gate and gestured for the man to follow him.  
  
She waited nervously. She wasn't sure what to think now. Was her Faceman really in the Army, or was the ID a fake, and this man was here to arrest him? Was he a deserter? She dismissed that thought. Lam Thanh would not hesitate to deal with a deserter, but he would not have supplied such a villa and...her.  
  
She had no more time to think, as Pin knocked on the door and let the American in, closing it softly as he left.  
  
They stared at each for a moment, before she remembered herself. Whoever this man was, she had invited him into their home, and she would not embarrass her 'husband' with her poor manners.  
  
"Please, will you sit?" She gestured to the couch, stepping back.  
  
The American hesitated for another moment, before smiling and seating himself.  
  
"Some tea, perhaps? It will only take a moment."  
  
"No, no, thank you." He cleared his throat, and abruptly stood, bowing very slightly. "My name is John Smith, ma'am. Colonel John Smith."  
  
She bowed in return. "I am Dao Quy."  
  
"Well, excuse me, ma'am, but I seem to be in a bit of a puzzle here. I was told that my lieutenant, Templeton Peck, was living here, but your man claims there's no such person here. I'm hoping he's mistaken."  
  
"No, he knows of no Templeton Peck."  
  
The colonel looked at her for a long time, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then he spoke, very softly.  
  
"You do, don't you, ma'am? He wouldn't be using the name of Butler, would he?"  
  
"You have business with this Mr Peck, Colonel?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I have business with him all right. He's in a spot of trouble, back at our base in Nha Trang. I need to speak with him about it. It's important."  
  
"It is serious, this trouble?"  
  
"It could be. I really do need to talk to him, ma'am, so we can get this taken care of before it does get serious."  
  
"You wish to help him, then?"  
  
"Yes, I do, ma'am. And I really believe that Mr, uh, Butler, is this man. If you don't mind, would you tell me just what your...position is, in the household?"  
  
"I am his wife."  
  
The colonel abruptly sat down.  
  
*****  
  
The cab dropped him off three streets away and took off almost before the door was closed. Peck didn't blame him. It was not exactly an area of the city anyone wanted to be in after dark. He, himself, might as well be wearing a neon sign. There weren't a lot of Americans in Cholon.  
  
He smiled, grimly. He could be friend or foe to either side at this point. Another reason he'd never wanted to get involved in the drug trade. Only a few months ago, while he and the others were guests of General Chow, there had been a huge sting operation right here in Cholon. The local police, with the assistance of the Americans, had arrested two high-level Viet-Ching drug smugglers. And almost gotten themselves killed by the Vietnamese Navy, who were paid to provide protection to the drug boats coming in from Cambodia. If it hadn't been for the sudden appearance of police reinforcements...  
  
He had his story straight, no matter which side he ran into. He wasn't worried on that count. Whether he'd be given a chance to tell it was another matter.  
  
He stepped cautiously into the first alley he came to. The less he was on the main streets, the better. He'd given himself plenty of time to find the meeting place, not only because he was moving slowly, but because he needed time to check it out, position himself, defensively, offensively. Didn't matter that he knew the kid; he didn't know the kid's compadres. Had to bear in mind that he was coming to them, not the other way around. They didn't need his connections; they would only be a convenience.  
  
He didn't like being on the short end of the stick.  
  
The brief thought of a grenade landing in Wrenn's lap flitted through his head. Followed immediately by a picture of Dao Quy.  
  
He shook them both off. Concentrate on the matter at hand.  
  
It took almost an hour of shuffling through the garbage and people in the alleyways before he found it. He'd watched the people as he walked, some curious, some looking the other way, most suspicious. The kids, most of them war orphans - eyes gleaming at him, rich American. Alone. No innocents in these places. Survivors. Determined to make a good life for themselves no matter what. No matter how. He glared at them. Let them know, wordlessly, that he knew who they were, what they were, and he was ready for them.  
  
Bring it on, kiddies. Bring it on. I'll end it.  
  
That's what they understood. They moved away, and he deliberately kept himself from looking back.  
  
Tough guy.  
  
Now he was here. He looked around, suspiciously. A small courtyard off the alley, the backside of a dingy cafe on one end, even dingier apartment buildings on the two sides. Lights coming on inside the apartments. Any one of them, all of them, could house the people who would knife him in the back at a moment's notice. His contacts could be sitting in that cafe, calmly drinking their tea, planning on how to dump his body when they'd gotten the info they wanted from him.  
  
He looked around the alley. One short block ahead was a busy street. Lots of traffic, lots of people. If it was an American street, he could disappear easily. But here...at least he had the gun.  
  
He moved cautiously into the courtyard, noting the high fence joining up with one apartment building. High enough no one could just jump over it. The nearest apartment door opened inward, and a narrow terrace ran the length of each of the upper floors, putting the first-floor area in near darkness. He could just make out the small tables sitting here and there in front of the apartments. He would have a clear view of all but the apartments directly above him, and cover from all angles; a quick shove would get him inside that apartment if needed.  
  
Perfect.  
  
He moved along the fence, staying in the shadows. He carefully turned a table over on its side and settled in a chair behind it. Pulled the scarf up just below his eyes. Took the gun out of his pocket, letting it rest easily on his lap. Made himself comfortable.  
  
He had about an hour's wait.  
  
*****  
  
Wife?  
  
Hannibal stared up at the woman, trying to get his mind focused again.  
  
Wife?  
  
She was looking back at him, solemn, questioning. A beautiful, petite...gook.  
  
His wife.  
  
He found his voice. Barely.  
  
"Uh, when, uh, when did you get...married?"  
  
She had the grace to blush. Looked down.  
  
Ah.  
  
It figured. Peck would never really get married. Just a sham. Just like everything else he did. All on the surface.  
  
He stood, feeling the disgust, not fighting it much. Not that he was prudish. He knew about and had no problem with his guys visiting the local whorehouse. But that was different. Those women knew it was short time. A quick hop in the sack and go on to the next.  
  
This was...a lie.  
  
And he couldn't help but wonder what promises Peck had made. What lies he'd told her.  
  
What lies she'd told him.  
  
"All right, Mrs Butler." He spat the words out, ignoring her flinch. "I need to know where he is. Now."  
  
"I don't know. He had some...business to take care of."  
  
"Business? What kind of business?"  
  
"I don't know. I..."  
  
"Who did he talk to? Anyone come to the house?"  
  
"He spoke to someone on the telephone. I don't know who. Please..."  
  
He saw the glisten in her eyes, softened his tone, reminding himself he wasn't someone who bullied women.  
  
"I'm sorry, ma'am. It's just very important." Especially if Peck was starting up his old ways in this city. "Did he say anything at all?"  
  
"Not to me. He didn't want me involved. The telephone call, that's all I know."  
  
"Where is it?"  
  
She pointed to the corner, and Hannibal strode over, grabbing the small notepad beside it. He'd hoped for this. Peck was scrupulous about taking notes before any foray into the boonies, about any projects Hannibal gave him. Once it was written down, he'd study it for a few minutes and then destroy it. Hannibal didn't know why, but it was definitely a habit of his.  
  
He grabbed the pencil sitting beside the phone, and lightly scribbled over the top page of the notepad. Over and over, watching as the words gradually became clear.  
  
An address and time.  
  
He glanced at his watch. Less than thirty minutes. He held the notepad out to the woman.  
  
"You know this place?"  
  
Timidly, she took the pad and read. Frowning.  
  
"It is in Cholon. Not a good place." She looked up at him, and he could see she was scared.  
  
So. She cared for him.  
  
"Do you know how to get there?"  
  
"No, but Pin might." She hurried to the door, swinging it open and calling down.  
  
Within very few minutes, during which Hannibal paced the living room, Pin came hurrying in. He and the woman conferred for a few minutes before she turned to Hannibal.  
  
"Pin knows the way. It will be quicker - and safer - if he takes you."  
  
"Let's go." Hannibal headed to the door, but the woman grabbed his arm.  
  
"Please. Bring my Faceman back to me."  
  
He stared at her. Cared for him? Oh, yeah. Big time.  
  
He nodded, and followed Pin down to the courtyard.  
  
*****  
  
Peck straightened slowly in the chair, watching as several figures drifted into the courtyard. A couple from the alley, a couple more from the apartment building opposite his position. Stiffened as he heard footsteps above him, and two more came slowly down the stairway only yards away.  
  
He stayed still, caressing the gun in his lap.  
  
Not yet.  
  
Three figures came out of the back door of the cafe, stood for a moment, and then a fourth. Peck caught a glimpse of him.  
  
Tuan. His man. Supposedly. He'd soon find out.  
  
He waited until the group had congregated in the middle of the courtyard. He'd let them stew a few minutes. He might be the one initiating this, but a little power play wouldn't hurt. So he waited.  
  
They were not a patient bunch. That was a weakness. Also a danger. When they started milling around, he knew it was time. He spoke softly, just loud enough, no louder.  
  
"Hey, Tuan. Let's talk."  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal hadn't liked turning the wheel over to Pin, but it was quicker to just let him drive than try to understand the directions in his broken English. He was afraid the frail-looking caretaker would drive like the old man he was, but Pin apparently had been in Saigon for some time.  
  
Hannibal's knuckles were white on the frame.  
  
After what seemed like hours, Pin suddenly pulled the Jeep over to the curb. He nodded at a small cafe.  
  
"This is it?" Hannibal looked at the cafe, people moving in and out. Didn't look that imposing. Or dangerous. But Pin had told him what kind of business was conducted around here.  
  
Pin was shaking his head. "No, sir, this not place. You go back. Back of here. That place."  
  
Hannibal sat for a moment. He was alone, unarmed. And he didn't want to raise a ruckus, bring any unwanted attention to the goings-on behind the cafe. Just break it up, before Peck got in too deep.  
  
He turned to Pin, who was watching the cafe nervously.  
  
"You like Mr Butler, don't you, Pin?"  
  
Pin nodded, quickly.  
  
"Okay, then. Here's what I want you to do..."  
  
*****  
  
Tuan and the others had nearly jumped out of their skin at Peck's voice. He smiled in the dark corner, even as he saw several flashes of light on metal among the group. Not unexpected.  
  
Tuan stepped forward, staring at the corner.  
  
"Is that you, Anh Peck?"  
  
"You know it, Tuan."  
  
He knew he was being rude, ignoring Vietnamese customs, but he didn't worry about it. He and Tuan had done business before, although not of this nature. Tuan knew how it worked. Just as he understood why Peck remained hidden.  
  
"Quite a crowd, Tuan."  
  
"Only my friends, Anh Peck. It is a...bad neighborhood."  
  
Peck allowed himself a short chuckle.  
  
"You come out, meet my friends now?"  
  
"Only the one I came to meet. You said he'd be here."  
  
"He's here. Inside."  
  
Damn. Not the way they did things. No way the boss would let a kid speak for him out here while he waited inside. Only meant one thing.  
  
A dry hole. Wrenn wouldn't be happy about that. Peck wasn't too happy about it, either. In Tuan's eyes, he'd lost face with Peck when he couldn't bring his boss; that meant Peck would tell others how Tuan hadn't had the clout with his boss to produce, and thus make Tuan lose face with a lot of important people.  
  
Peck sighed. Didn't leave Tuan with a lot of choices. Or Peck. Damn. The kid probably tried to talk his boss into a direct deal. He was young, wet behind the ears. Should've known better. But, Peck had told him he just wanted to test the waters. All Tuan had to do was convince his boss to talk.  
  
Damn.  
  
He gripped the pistol a little tighter. He didn't have enough ammo to take everyone out, and no hope of doing that anyway. Wouldn't have to, of course, if he just took out Tuan to begin with. The confusion then would buy him enough time to break down the door to that apartment and take cover inside. Most likely these boys didn't want to attract attention; that's why the knives instead of guns in their hands. They'd scatter after that first shot, before someone called the White Mice. So his best bet was to take Tuan down. Not that he wanted to do that. Not really. He liked Tuan.  
  
But he liked living better.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal was moving slowly down the alley, trying to keep track of where that cafe was. Problem was, of course, that these damn alleys were practically streets themselves, with shanties and lean-tos built up against the actual buildings. The people in the alley looked at him, startled. They didn't like seeing an American uniform here. Could only mean trouble of one kind or another. They melted into the darkness as he proceeded through.  
  
Not the first time he wished he had eyes in the back of his head.  
  
He heard the voices first. He stopped, crept slowly to the corner of some apartment building, and cautiously peered around the corner. Just enough to see what was going on. A bunch of young punks, maybe a dozen, standing in the middle of the courtyard. A kid in the front was talking to someone over on the other side. Hannibal couldn't see who, but he heard the response and knew he'd found his man.  
  
He moved back around the corner. He hoped Pin hurried up. Hoped he remembered what he was supposed to do. Hoped his loyalty to Peck held up.  
  
*****  
  
"Come on out, Anh Peck. We talk. Then you meet Sang Lo. Make deal."  
  
Peck stood slowly, quietly, keeping the gun down below the overturned table. Didn't want the glint of metal to give him away. Not yet.  
  
"Why don't you come over here, Tuan? No offense to your buds, but my business is with you and your boss." He took a small step toward the apartment door. "Better yet - you go inside and get Sang Lo. We'll enjoy the night air while we talk."  
  
Another step.  
  
Tuan was shaking his head. "No can do. Sang Lo want more information first. Then he maybe talk with you."  
  
Peck took another step. Gripped the gun, slowly pulling back the hammer on the Colt.  
  
Sorry, kid.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal heard the sirens in the distance, moving fast his way. He saw the distinctive headlights of the Jeep pull into the alley just ahead of his position. With a quick wave of his arm, he let Pin know where he was and took a step back from the building.  
  
In his best Vietnamese, he shouted as loud as he could. "Halt! This is the police!"  
  
It took only a moment for it to sink in. That, and the sirens sudden halt in the street in front of the cafe. Well, not quite in front of it. Pin had reported a robbery four doors down. Within a minute, maybe less, the men in the courtyard had scampered up the stairs of the two apartment buildings, disappearing into the dark upper reaches.  
  
Silence.  
  
Hannibal nodded at Pin in the Jeep, who pulled up close to a high fence. Calmly lighting a cigar, Hannibal stepped into the courtyard.  
  
"I'm waiting, Lieutenant."


	12. Chapter 12

**October 1969**  
  
Peck had come out of the dark corner almost as soon as Hannibal had spoken. Stared at him for a split second before shaking his head and limping painfully for the alley. Hannibal moved to help him, but Peck almost spat out, "Pin!" and the caretaker ran to his side. Hannibal stood for a moment, watching as Peck took his seat in the Jeep, and Pin scrambled to get behind the wheel. Peck frowned over the back of the seat at him.  
  
"Coming, Colonel?"  
  
Taking a deep breath, Hannibal marched over and climbed into the back of the Jeep, and Pin took off like the very Devil was after them.  
  
The ride back to the villa was long and silent. Pin, apparently wanting to ensure they were not followed, took the longest possible route. At least, it seemed that way. Finally even Peck had had enough. He said something and Pin took an immediate right turn, and within just a few minutes they were parked in front of the villa.  
  
Pin hurried to unlock the gate. Hannibal climbed stiffly out of the back and stood by Peck, who hadn't moved.  
  
"You going to let me help this time, or you want to sleep in the Jeep?"  
  
Any retort Peck planned on making was cut short when Pin came back, and between them they helped Peck out of the Jeep, through the courtyard and up the stairs to his quarters. Dao Quy met them at the top of the stairs.  
  
Hannibal relinquished his hold, letting Peck's 'wife' take over, and wandered into the living room as she and Pin maneuvered the ailing man into the bedroom. Pin came out a few minutes later and waited until Hannibal looked directly at him.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Sir, Mr Butler wish talk with you, but Madam say not tonight. She wish you to stay, be guest."  
  
"Mr Butler also wishes me to stay?"  
  
Pin looked down.  
  
Hannibal sighed. "Okay, Pin. Thank...Mrs Butler for me. I would be honored to be her guest."  
  
Pin nodded, obviously relieved, and hurried back into the bedroom. Moments later he showed Hannibal his room and the bar, and made his escape from the apartment, leaving Hannibal to his own devices.  
  
This was definitely not turning out the way Hannibal had planned it. He figured he'd come down here, find Peck in some hotel, rip him a new ass, and then they'd go back to base.  
  
Instead...  
  
He could hear, faintly, the murmur of voices from the bedroom. Uncomfortable, he wandered out to the patio, idly pulling out a cigar. The patio formed an L-shape, the longer side running along the front of the villa, the short end disappearing around the side, obviously connecting with the bedroom Peck had taken refuge in.  
  
Fancy digs, all right. Very fancy.  
  
Shaking his head, he reached for his lighter, moving to a chair in the inner corner of the patio. He was about to sit down and light up when he again heard their voices.  
  
He didn't intend to listen. He really didn't.  
  
*****  
  
"I'm not sure how things could be going so well, and still be going to hell. I mean, we escaped. Escaped! It could only get better. It can't get better and worse at the same time. One way or the other. That's how things are supposed to work out, right? But it didn't.  
  
"These guys didn't trust me as it was; didn't even like me. I knew that. Then they had to haul me around like a...I tried to make amends, split up my share of the food, but then Ray...I thought he was going to bite my head off. But hell, I had no appetite. Why throw food away? He didn't see it that way. He was so mad...I knew I'd lost him, too.  
  
"Anyway, then Shipley took off. He just...lost it. I don't know if he knew what he was doing when he left, or thought he did, or if he was just in outer space. He was a nice guy; you could tell, even though he was so quiet, you could still tell. I liked him. And I just kept thinking of him, out in that jungle. Alone.  
  
"I think I was glad the pain in my knee was getting worse. It made it hard to concentrate on anything but that. I was out of the action. I didn't have to be part of it anymore. I didn't have to try anymore... I didn't have to think anymore."  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal sat, unable to move, staring at the wooden block that made up the floor of the patio. Following the grain with his eye. Staring.  
  
Ray had never told him Peck was giving away his food. Hannibal didn't know Peck and Shipley had even talked.  
  
And Peck had never given any indication he was aware of how the others felt about him. Not once had Hannibal seen anything but that cocky grin, laughing off the comments like they were just good-natured ribbings.  
  
What else hadn't he noticed?  
  
He sat, unable to move, staring at the wooden block that made up the floor of the patio. Following the grain with his eye  
  
Not really seeing them.  
  
*****  
  
"Cook was...Cook was a good guy. When we'd stop, rest breaks, he'd stay with me, talk, if we could. Said he had a wife back home, and a daughter. He was going to join his brother in some kind of electronics business when he got out.  
  
"It was hard, hauling me around like that. The ground was rough, trees all over. Cook tripped once, and I slipped, must've yelled a bit. He felt so bad, but it wasn't his fault. I tried to tell him that, but he just kept saying 'I'm sorry, man, I'm sorry.' He had nothing to be sorry for, but he just kept saying it...  
  
"Then...the colonel set us up to get rescued. We heard the choppers coming in. And suddenly, Cook and BA grabbed me, started running toward the birds. Hurt like hell, but I didn't care. I just wanted to be on that bird. BA shoved me up, and the other guys pulled me in. I was sitting near the door, and they pulled BA up next, and then...  
  
"I saw Cook, reaching up. One of the guys next to me...I just saw his arm, reaching down...and Cook reaching up. And I wanted to reach down, and help, but I couldn't move...my leg was in the way...and I saw his face...when he...when he got hit...his eyes just got wide...and blood...out of his mouth...all over...he just fell back, away from the chopper and then we were going up and I could see him...down on the ground..."  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal remembered it. How Peck had been so quiet after Wiley spoke to him. Calm. Hannibal thought too calm, considering. Meant to talk to him, but it was too loud in the chopper, and then the medics had hauled him off before Hannibal had a chance...  
  
He should've talked to him. Later. At the hospital in Nha Trang.  
  
He should have.  
  
*****  
  
Dao Quy closed the door softly behind her. For a moment, she was tempted to turn back around, join her Faceman in sleep, forget all about the trouble this colonel had brought to him. To them.  
  
He wouldn't tell her anything that had happened tonight. When she asked why the colonel had come, or what this trouble was he had spoken of, he just shook his head. He thought Smith wanted nothing more to do with him; he wouldn't explain why. If he didn't understand why, or just didn't want to talk about it, she didn't know. Too many things she didn't know.  
  
And only one person who could - or would - tell her now.  
  
"Hope you don't mind."  
  
The colonel was at the bar, holding up a filled glass. He looked tired. She shook her head, tried to smile. She would play hostess, for her 'husband's' sake, but she must have her answers.  
  
"He asleep?"  
  
"Yes. His leg is very bad. He should not have gone tonight."  
  
"You got that right." Dao Quy looked at him, sharply. There almost seemed to be more regret than reproach in his words.  
  
She steeled herself. What she was about to do went against everything she had been taught. She walked steadily over to the bar. The colonel watched her, seeming to know his night was not over.  
  
"I am sorry, Colonel Smith, but I must speak frankly with you. I must know what happened between you and my husband. He will not tell me, and I cannot help him if I do not know."  
  
"You keep calling him your husband - you know he isn't, not really. You know that when his leg is healed up, he'll be going back to the Army, and you'll be left here."  
  
Dao Quy straightened up, dignity filling every inch of her small frame. "I know this. I knew that from the start."  
  
"Yet you still want to help him? Get involved with things that have nothing to do with you, things that will be his life after you're gone?"  
  
"Is that so hard for you to understand? Is that not why you are here, to help him, even when he is no longer part of your life?"  
  
"No longer...? What do you mean?"  
  
She looked at him, confused. "He said you wanted nothing more to do with him, that that is why he came to Saigon. But he wouldn't say what had happened."  
  
The colonel sighed, and placed the glass, halfway to his mouth, slowly down on the bar. Stared at it for several minutes. Dao Quy waited.  
  
"I made a mistake, Mrs Butler. A big mistake..."  
  
*****  
  
"That's enough, Captain." Turning back to the hapless Marine in his grasp, he rasped, "You get your asses out of here, and if I see one jarhead anywhere near these men again, I'll come down on you so hard, you'll wish you were back in Khe Sanh!"  
  
The Marines, glaring and wincing, struggled to their feet and moved sullenly away. Hannibal watched until they were out of sight and turned on his lieutenant.  
  
"Now, you want to explain yourself, Lieutenant?"  
  
"I just don't want any more trouble, Colonel. They're hotheads, nothing more."  
  
"Hotheads, huh? They were about to do some major damage, Peck, not only to you but to Murdock. And you just want to drop the whole thing! Why? You press charges and this whole damn thing gets put to rest."  
  
Peck looked up at him, and anger was in his voice.  
  
"What whole damn thing, Colonel? You mean Cook? That's not going away. They told me what those gooks did to him after we left. Told me what they found when they went back for the body. What was left of it. Is that what bringing charges will erase?"  
  
"That was nobody's fault. It's a war, dammit. People die."  
  
"Then what would change, Colonel? What did you mean, it would get put to rest? What else is there? The camp?"  
  
Hannibal felt that warning growl in his head, telling him to back off, cool down. He ignored it.  
  
"Yeah, Lieutenant, the camp. And what you did there."  
  
"Colonel..." Murdock took a step forward, but Hannibal's glare almost physically shoved him back.  
  
"Just what did I do, Colonel?" Peck's voice was soft, cold.  
  
"You tell me! You tell me, because so far, you haven't told anyone just what your scheme was. I know you got Lin to help us out, but was that the original plan? Or did that happen after you hurt your leg? When you knew you'd need help yourself, after an escape?"  
  
"Is that what you think?"  
  
"That's all I'm hearing! The only thing you've told anyone is that you 'buttered him up'. For who? For us? Or for you? If you're some kind of fuckin hero, tell me exactly what you did, what you said, so I can answer the questions the brass are throwing at me."  
  
"You know damn well what I did, Colonel! He's laying in a grave on his parent's farm!"  
  
"Is that what you want to do then? Divert all the attention to Cook? Take the blame for that, focus the anger on that? Why? So no one does look too closely at what you and that gook had planned?"  
  
"That's it, Colonel. You hit the nail on the head. I wondered when you'd finally figure it out."  
  
It was at that point that BA and Ray had pulled Hannibal away, practically dragging him off the patio, away from the hospital itself. Wiley had stared at Peck for only a moment before following.  
  
The last thing Hannibal saw was Peck, head in his hands, with Murdock standing angrily beside him.  
  
*****  
  
"I lost my temper. Lost my control. The next thing I knew, he'd rigged the paperwork and taken off."  
  
"You really believe he was a collaborator?"  
  
"No! No, he may be a lot of things, but...no. And if I'd had my brains in gear at the time, I never would have said those things. I should have realized he felt guilty about Cook, but at the time, all I could think was that he was just feeling sorry for himself, using Cook...I was wrong. But he never gave me the chance to tell him."  
  
"So now, you come to help him. To...make amends."  
  
"Yeah. Something like that."  
  
"Even though you do not trust him, even yet?"  
  
Hannibal's head jerked up and he stared at her. Sighed.  
  
"I trust him to a point. I see...potential. I don't want him to waste that. Screw it up. But, no. I don't trust him completely."  
  
"Very well. You trust him to a point. I will trust him the rest of the way. Between us, maybe we really can help him."  
  
Hannibal looked at her, smiling at him. Confident. Trusting. He smiled back.  
  
"Faceman, huh?"  
  
*****  
  
When he awoke, much later that morning, his first thought was Smith. The second was the pain in his knee. Third, what he was going to tell Wrenn.  
  
He kept his eyes closed. It seemed like a very good morning to stay in bed.  
  
He heard the bedroom door open, and the smell of hot tea and that porridge Dao Quy had made into an art form.  
  
Fourth thought - he was starving.  
  
He opened his eyes, watching as Dao Quy strode to the side of the bed, placing the tray on the bedside table.  
  
"I have a message for you, from your colonel."  
  
"My colonel?"  
  
"Yes. He had to leave early this morning, but he said when you are through...goldbricking...you come to see him. He said to tell you his list is getting longer every day."


	13. Chapter 13

**November 1969**  
  
For Peck, the following weeks were nearly an idyll. Other than Dao Quy acting like a drill sergeant when it came to the exercises and doctor appointments, that is. But as the knee healed, and he was finally able to trade crutches for a distinguished-looking cane, he found he had more and more energy and enthusiasm for the other activities she planned. And with each day that went by without any sign or sound from Tuan or Wrenn, he relaxed his paranoia more and more.  
  
He'd gotten one call from Smith, warning him of the formal investigation into his 'activities' at the camp. Peck had been interviewed by CID, at their headquarters in Saigon. Asked a lot of questions about things that he didn't think had anything to do with the camp - like his current living arrangements. That got a little dicey, but he stuck to the fact that Dao Quy was, after all, a trained physical therapist, recommended by a mutual friend. He didn't know if the CID guy believed him, but as it was essentially the truth, he stuck to it.  
  
Smith's call had been awkward, formal, and they'd stuck to the business at hand. The only positive thing was Smith had spoken as if he assumed Peck would be rejoining the unit when he got back.  
  
That was the other fly in the ointment.  
  
Peck knew that the sooner he healed, the sooner he would have to leave Saigon and the life - and people - he had come to claim as his own. That it was all a lie was something he chose to ignore. It was the life he wanted, and the life he decided he was going to keep.  
  
At least, part of it.  
  
Some three weeks after Colonel Smith's visit, Dao Quy and Pin had gone to the market. Peck had given her some extra spending money and told her to find something special for herself. Knowing how Dao Quy loved fine clothes, and was very picky about what she wore, he felt confident he would have several hours to himself.  
  
He called Lam Thanh, who agreed to meet him at a local restaurant.  
  
Peck was nervous as he sat waiting. Although he knew this would be no more than a business deal to Lam Thanh, he felt as if he were meeting the father of the bride for the first time. He mentally went over his bank balance one more time, knowing Lam Thanh wouldn't cheat him, but recognizing, again, that this was business. And it would be expensive.  
  
To put it bluntly, Dao Quy was quality goods.  
  
It hadn't been a conscious decision, but it seemed to have happened, just the same. It scared the hell out of him, while at the same time, it just seemed...natural.  
  
Amazing, actually.  
  
He'd been watching her bustle about the villa one day, and suddenly it wasn't the villa, but a small house. Not Saigon, but California.  
  
Not...rented.  
  
At the same time, he was well aware of the roadblocks. First of all, "buying" her away from Lam Thanh's contact. Then forging through all the red tape to get Dao Quy approved so she could actually go home with him.  
  
He smiled softly. Home. That sounded a lot nicer now.  
  
So, while nervous, he still felt confident he could pull it off. If he couldn't, no one could. He was a little worried about Dao Quy's recent history, but he had their relationship solidified with the CID report. He was sure he could find a way of discreetly skirting any other issues. If possible, without his usual slight-of-hand. He'd like this to be completely on the up-and-up. But if that didn't work...  
  
One way or another, he'd do it. He was confident of that. Maybe too confident; he'd already sent a message to Smith, requesting permission for him and Dao Quy to have their own place in Nha Trang. It was a bit of a peace offering, actually - Smith knew he normally wouldn't care about getting permission.  
  
There was really only one thing that could nix the entire project. And it was the one reason he hadn't mentioned it to Dao Quy in advance.  
  
What if she said no?  
  
*****  
  
"Well?"  
  
Darnell shook his head, dropping the pen on his desk and leaning back in his chair. "Don't you ever knock?"  
  
"Look, it's been almost a month. Surely CID's made their report by now."  
  
"They don't work on a timetable, John. They take as..."  
  
"As long as they take, I know. But they must have given you some idea of what they're findings will be."  
  
"They have given me their preliminary report. That's preliminary, John."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And, they haven't found any proof that Peck did anything he shouldn't have. Just as we figured would happen."  
  
"Nothing he shouldn't have done - what about what he did? Like getting us out of there?"  
  
"That's not what they do. The only thing they'll put in their report is whether or not there's enough evidence to charge him with a crime. If they don't find anything, that's it."  
  
"You know that's not good enough. There are a lot of people who want to string him up - CID has to do more than just say they can't prove anything. They have to say..."  
  
"They don't, John. Get that through your head. Now, you put him in for a commendation, and I approved it. If that's not proof enough for those jarheads, there's nothing more I can do. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some work to do - recons to plan, men to train - war stuff, you know."  
  
Hannibal glared but left the office without saying another word.  
  
He marched through the camp to his own hootch, stopping abruptly in the doorway when he saw BA, Wiley, and Murdock seated inside. All three men stood up, looking guilty.  
  
"Now what?" Hannibal normally didn't start out snapping at the guys, but after the morning he'd had...  
  
Murdock looked up, trying to smile. He'd become the unofficial spokesman for the team, at least whenever there was anything awkward happening. Hannibal had a lot more patience with him.  
  
"You got a message from Peck, Colonel. The radio guy left it on your desk."  
  
"Out in plain sight, right? Hard to miss, hard not to catch a glimpse of it?"  
  
"Uh, well..."  
  
"So what did our lieutenant have to say, Murdock?" Hannibal had also made it a habit to refer to Peck as "our lieutenant" when talking to the guys; a little reminder never hurt.  
  
"He wants permission to live off base again, Hannibal." Wiley's voice had an edge to it. "With someone named Dao Quy."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yeah, so who's Dao Quy?" BA was glaring again. Not the good glare, either.  
  
Hannibal hadn't had a drink since he'd gotten back from Saigon. He really wished he had one now.  
  
*****  
  
Colonel Darnell pulled the file after Smith left, and continued reading. He wasn't happy. The report, while still officially 'preliminary', exonerated Peck of any wrongdoing at the POW camp. At least, it stated they could find no evidence of wrongdoing, and recommended dropping any further investigation.  
  
All well and good, at least as far as the bureaucracy was concerned. But Peck's folder was full of such reports. And Darnell knew as well as Hannibal did that it wouldn't satisfy the Marines. They'd have to live with it, of course, but they wouldn't be happy.  
  
What Darnell didn't like was the personal information included as a matter of course in the report. Peck's current status, where he was living - and with who. He had to wonder if that had been the situation when Hannibal went down there, and if so, why Hannibal had kept quiet about it. His only consolation was knowing that information would not be in the copy released to the Marines.  
  
It would remain in the official record only, strictly confidential.  
  
*****  
  
Peck stepped out into the bright sun. He always hated dealing with the banks over here. They had as much red tape as the Army did, maybe more. But it didn't matter now. It had taken several days, but finally the transfer of funds was complete, and he had his money secure in his pocket.  
  
Right next to the pistol.  
  
He glanced at his watch. He had to meet Lam Thanh in twenty minutes, and the two of them would then meet with Dao Quy's...manager. Peck refused to call him a pimp; another of those little lies he told himself. That didn't matter either. Not after today.  
  
He caught a cyclo and sat back, allowing himself to enjoy the scenery as they pedaled through the busy streets. After he finished his business with Lam Thanh, he had to check in with the doc at the Third Field Hospital; one more check-in after that and they'd be ready to go back to Nha Trang.  
  
They.  
  
He grinned, deciding to pick up some flowers on the way home...  
  
*****  
  
"I hate filing reports." The young corporal disgustedly dropped several files on his desk. "You'd think one copy in-country would be enough, but no...every damn office has to get their own copy. And yours truly gets to file them away."  
  
"Aw, it's not that bad. I mean, you could be out in the boonies instead of shuffling papers around."  
  
"Saigon ain't that safe, man." The corporal stretched, looked longingly out into the rare sunshine. "Hey, how about you file these for me?"  
  
"In your dreams, man. 'Sides, you're the only one sposed to see those CID files."  
  
"No, really, you file these while I run some errands, and, uh, I'll get you that phone number you've been pestering me about. C'mon, no one will know."  
  
His companion shrugged. He wasn't due back at the Embassy for an hour, not enough time to do anything except get bored. He chuckled as his buddy took off out the door. Errands, right. That was Army boys for you.  
  
Leave the dirty work for the Marines.  
  
He grabbed a handful of files and started casually filing them away, whistling softly.  
  
The whistling stopped abruptly when he picked up the next file.  
  
Peck.  
  
Why did that name sound familiar?  
  
*****  
  
He sank back into the pillows, content. Dao Quy next to him, soft, warm, the small diamond on her finger sparkling up at him. It was an extravagance, he knew, but he didn't care.  
  
She'd said yes.  
  
He smiled, thinking the look on her face when he'd asked her was probably no different than his when she finally answered.  
  
Amazing.  
  
Two people who had each planned their future based on cheating the devil, never expecting to win in the long run, just playing the game as long as they could...What were the odds they would have found each other, in this place, at this time? What the hell were the odds?  
  
Amazing.  
  
*****  
  
"Ain't right, man." BA stared out at the rows of choppers on the airstrip. It was hot today, and muggy. Like always. And like always, it irritated him.  
  
Wiley spat. "You imagine - guy takes off like that, finds himself some gook nookie and then expects to bring her back here? Live with her? Geez..."  
  
"Hey, don't matter she's gook or not. Ain't right, living like that 'fore they's married."  
  
Murdock frowned. He just wanted to sit in the sun, not bitch about Peck. "It's none of our business anyway, guys."  
  
"Hell it isn't, Murdock! Wait'll we get out in the boonies - you think he's gonna be covering our asses, or worrying about getting his back to her?"  
  
"Hey, there's lots of married guys here."  
  
"Yeah, but their wives aren't."  
  
"Ain't his wife. Just shackin up with her..."  
  
"We got that, BA. But Hannibal's okay with it."  
  
"You sure about that? He didn't look very happy when he got the message."  
  
"Spose he met her when he was down there? I mean, how long they been together, y's'pose?"  
  
"If he did, he hasn't said anything. Probably figured it was none of our business." Murdock shook his head and stared out at the choppers.  
  
"If he was okay with it, he would have told us. We don't hide stuff about our families, so he must not like it."  
  
"Ain't family, man. I keep tellin ya..."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, we know, BA! 'They're just shacking up'...geez!"  
  
Murdock hopped off the stack of tires he'd been sitting on and headed back to the base. Wiley and BA watched him until he disappeared around the corner, then stared out at the rows of choppers on the airstrip.  
  
"Ain't right, man."  
  
"Nope. Ain't right, BA."  
  
*****  
  
"You sure this is the place?"  
  
"Yeah, man, this is it. I double-checked."  
  
"Any sign of him?"  
  
"Some guy's there, walks with a cane. Seen him with some bitch. Got a handyman living there, too. Just like that report said."  
  
"Anybody else know you saw that?"  
  
"Nobody that'll say anything."  
  
"Good. That's real good..."  
  
*****  
  
"You must hurry now. You cannot be late. You know the doctor is busy."  
  
Peck smiled to himself. "You're getting to be a real nag, you know that?"  
  
"Oh, no! No, am I? I'm sorry, I..." Dao Quy stopped as Peck turned and grinned at her. "Oh, you! More of that American humor!" She muttered something more, and Peck grabbed her around the waist.  
  
"You better watch that tongue of yours, Bùn - you'll embarrass BA!"  
  
Dao Quy sobered, staring up at him. "These men - you are sure..."  
  
"It'll be okay. They may hate your husband, but they'll love you. How could they not?" He hugged her closely, not letting her see the frown. He wasn't sure what the reception would be, but he hoped they would at least be polite. Yeah. The colonel would make sure of that much.  
  
"Okay. I have to get moving - like you said, can't be late. At least we won't have much packing to do when I get back."  
  
"I have some shopping to do before we go." She smiled quickly at his look. "Only a little, and yes, I will take Pin with me. He will be so glad it will be the last time, maybe he won't grumble so much."  
  
They laughed and kissed, and Peck jogged down the steps. Dao Quy watched as he hailed a taxi and was driven away. Smiling, she grabbed a notepad and pen, chewing on the end as she gathered her thoughts. Contrary to what she had told Peck, she had a lot of shopping to do.  
  
She had a very special surprise planned for their last supper in Saigon. And for after. She wanted him to always remember this night.  
  
*****  
  
The two men watched as Peck stepped through the gate and hopped into the cab. Inside, they could see the caretaker start to sweep the courtyard.  
  
They looked at each other, nodding. Smiling.  
  
"Go get the others."  
  
*****  
  
Forty-five minutes later, Dao Quy was ready. She glanced one more time in the mirror, blushing at how vain she'd become. But her Faceman liked her to look her best, no matter where she was going, market or theater. She tucked in a stray hair and hurried to the kitchen, where she grabbed her shopping list. She shook her head when she saw the clock. They would have to hurry if she was going to have time to fix that wonderful supper she'd planned.  
  
Hurrying down the stairs to the courtyard, she called to Pin. Almost immediately he came out of his own apartment and scurried ahead to unlock the gates. Dao Quy waited impatiently as he stopped to lock up again behind them, and the two moved quickly down the street.  
  
The five Marines stayed about a block behind them.  
  
*****  
  
Peck was a little surprised that the gates were still locked, and no sign of Pin. Then he grinned. He could just see Dao Quy running Pin's bandy little legs off with her shopping. She liked to pretend she was very practical, but she could shop with the fervor of a Beverly Hills maven.  
  
He pulled out his own key, and carefully locked the gates again behind him. Pin was very particular about that, and Peck didn't blame him. Whistling softly, he strode up the stairs and into the apartment, making a quick stop in the kitchen to grab an apple. He tossed it twirling in the air on his way to the bedroom, trying - and failing - to catch it behind his back. Chuckling at himself, he swung down and grabbed it up and continued on into the bedroom, unabashed.  
  
The doc had given him a clean bill of health, and he was surprised at how good that felt. It meant going back to the boonies, but he was feeling invincible. He was short now - less than five months. Two months ago he'd planned on extending his tour. The World had nothing to offer him so why not?  
  
Now...  
  
Now he was picturing a nice apartment, maybe a small house. Tarzana, Pasadena...anywhere, really. Go back to school, finish that degree on the GI Bill. Maybe they could start a business. He couldn't see himself working for someone else the rest of his life. Not after the Army.  
  
Enough woolgathering. He glanced at their suitcases, sitting by the bedroom door. Everything but the last minute items ready to go. And no long hours spent on the road, either. No sir. He'd gotten them decent seats on a transport to Cam Ranh Bay the next morning. From there, a cab ride to the hotel in Nha Trang, where he'd already booked a room for Dao Quy. She'd stay there until he could find them a decent house to live in.  
  
He frowned then. He hadn't heard back from Smith about the living arrangements yet. Not that it mattered. But it would've been nice to know how Smith had reacted.  
  
Determined not to let anything bring him down, he bit into the apple and headed for the shower.


	14. Chapter 14

**November 1969**  
  
He didn't know how many times he'd gone out to the patio, stared down at the gate. Lost count long ago. Each time, willing Dao Quy and Pin to suddenly appear, flustered and embarrassed at being so late.  
  
And they were late.  
  
Terribly late.  
  
He wandered back inside, picked up his glass from the bar, and swallowed the Scotch in one gulp. Poured another. Stared at the clock.  
  
Sitting on the couch. Drinking the Scotch. Moving into the bedroom. Looking at the suitcases. His. Hers.  
  
Patio. Staring at the gate.  
  
Another Scotch.  
  
Staring at the clock.  
  
He was in the kitchen, fiddling with the stove. That one burner never would light properly. Dao Quy was always complaining about it. He should've fixed it before.  
  
The bell at the gate rang.  
  
Loud.  
  
He was across the courtyard before he realized he'd even left the kitchen. Fumbling with the lock, opening the gate.  
  
Staring into the street long after Lam Thanh had stepped inside.  
  
*****  
  
"So you're going to let him?"  
  
"Yeah, Wiley, I am. With some ground rules. But I'll discuss those with him."  
  
"What about her? I mean, we gotta..."  
  
"You guys will treat her like you would any other lady. And I do mean 'lady'."  
  
"Hannibal, she's..."  
  
"BA, I know what you're thinking. I know what you're all thinking. But I've met her, talked to her, and she's not just another bar girl. She's...a real lady." He shrugged.  
  
"But, Hannibal..."  
  
"Hey, c'mon, guys. We all know this has nothing to do with her. Right? But you better remember one thing - if it wasn't for him, we wouldn't be here. Period. He's always done his job, and he's taken care of this unit. I don't care what he used to do, I don't care what people think he's done, and I don't care what he's doing in his personal life. He's always looked out for the team, and as far as I'm concerned, that's the only thing that matters. It's about time we cut the kid some slack."  
  
Wiley and BA glanced at each other, and then Wiley looked over at Hannibal.  
  
"So she's nice?"  
  
"She's very nice. She was a physical therapist at the hospital. Then her old man got into trouble with the politicos. She's just doing what everybody here is doing - surviving."  
  
"So Peck - he really...I mean..." BA scowled and looked at the floor.  
  
"Yeah, BA, I think 'he really'. I also think we're going to see some real changes in him. For the better. But we have to meet him halfway. He's part of this team - time we started acting like it." He grinned suddenly. "And the first step is to quit calling him 'Peck'."  
  
Murdock looked up from his seat on the floor, frowning at first, then smiling. "You got something in mind, Colonel?"  
  
Hannibal's grin grew even wider. "Just so happens, I do."  
  
*****  
  
Focus.  
  
Focus. No different than out in the boonies. Don't see. Just do your job. Don't see the kids, the old women. Don't see the blood, don't hear the cries...  
  
Focus.  
  
"And Pin?"  
  
Lam Thanh shook his head. "He was badly beaten. He is an old man, Em."  
  
Focus.  
  
"Do the police know who did it?"  
  
Lam Thanh sighed. "Yes, but..."  
  
"But?"  
  
"There are...complications. The men were...Americans."  
  
Focus.  
  
"Military?"  
  
"Yes. Marines."  
  
He looked across the room. The suitcases just inside the door.  
  
"Names?"  
  
"I can get them."  
  
He nodded, and Lam Thanh left, the door closing softly behind him.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock stuck his head in the door, frowning.  
  
"Nothing yet, Colonel?"  
  
"Nope." Hannibal kept working on his reports, not looking up.  
  
Murdock hesitated, then stepped inside, casually moving along the length of the table.  
  
"Something on your mind, Murdock?"  
  
"No. We just thought they were supposed to be back a couple days ago. Just...wondering."  
  
"They had planned on coming back then, yes. But his leave isn't officially over for another four days. Obviously, they decided to wait."  
  
"But wouldn't he have let you know? I mean...well...let somebody know?"  
  
Hannibal put down his pen and rubbed his eyes. Stared at Murdock for a moment, thinking. He should've heard something by now. Peck wasn't answering his phone, and every other avenue he'd tried, official and otherwise, had been blocked. Something had happened down there, and it was something someone didn't want Hannibal involved in.  
  
"How soon could you round up a chopper, Murdock?"  
  
*****  
  
Lam Thanh looked at him from across the room.  
  
"We know where four of them are. The Army has them, and they will be transferred to Long Binh tomorrow morning."  
  
"Is he one of them?" His voice was quiet, calm.  
  
"It appears no. They found one, he gave up the others. But none will say where the last one is. All they know is he is hiding somewhere in Saigon."  
  
"They know where he is."  
  
"I think so, yes. But they will not tell the CID. They are more afraid of him."  
  
"I need to talk to the first one."  
  
"I don't know if I can arrange that. It is...difficult."  
  
"Difficult?" He turned, and Lam Thanh could see what the last few days had done to his friend. "Difficult? No, it's not difficult. This," he grabbed a framed photo from the table, held it above his head, "this is difficult!" He threw it violently against the wall, and Lam Thanh winced as the glass shattered.  
  
"I need to talk to him." The voice was calm, quiet once again.  
  
Lam Thanh sighed, nodded. "I will arrange it."  
  
*****  
  
It had taken Murdock a while to round up a chopper. It wasn't like getting a rental car, after all. He wished Hannibal realized that. But then, ever since Peck - no, change that - ever since "Faceman" had come into the fold, Hannibal expected everybody to produce at the drop of a hat.  
  
He was running through the pre-flight checklist now, after letting Hannibal know he'd finally gotten the okay. Hoped to hell his CO didn't check into this. Although when someone from SF called on them, they usually didn't question it. That wasn't their job - ensuring a successful mission was.  
  
Murdock wasn't sure about this one. Whatever Hannibal had in mind, it didn't bode well for the LT. Then again, Murdock was pretty sure Faceman was in plenty of hot water already. He figured Hannibal had the same feeling. The colonel seemed to have a sixth sense about things like that.  
  
He jumped a bit when Hannibal climbed aboard. He hadn't even noticed him coming up to the bird. Better get his head on straight.  
  
Straight as he could anyway.  
  
Hannibal looked at him, and he nodded back.  
  
I'll be fine, Colonel. Always am, once I get in the air.  
  
It's on the ground that it gets dangerous.  
  
*****  
  
The Marine was shoved into a small storage room. The door closed, and he was left in total darkness. He'd known there was something wrong shortly after he'd been taken from his cell. That the guard was Vietnamese didn't bother him; a lot of Arvin had guard duty. But this one had smiled at him.  
  
Not a nice smile.  
  
He'd thought, at first, it was just another interview. The CID kept pulling him in at all times of the day and night, trying to trip him up, make him tell where Markie was. He kept saying he didn't know. And he'd keep saying that. After seeing what Markie did to that whore, his lips were zipped, man.  
  
But it wasn't another interview. They'd gone a different way, down into the basement, past what must have been the boiler room. For a minute, he thought maybe Markie had bribed the guards, was going to get him out.  
  
But then he'd been shoved in here.  
  
He couldn't hear anything out in the hall. He hollered a few times, but no one answered, came running. He felt his way around the room, bumped into a small table in the middle, and felt metal shelving along the walls. Couldn't find a light switch.  
  
He found the table again and sat on the edge.  
  
Waited.  
  
Sweated.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock tossed his helmet on the seat, shut the door and hurried after Hannibal. He almost collided with him at the abrupt stop.  
  
"You wait here, Murdock."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I don't know what's going on, okay? So if all you know is that I commandeered this bird and its pilot, there's no trouble."  
  
"Colonel, what's going on?"  
  
Hannibal shook his head. "No trouble, Murdock. That's all you need to know." He started walking away, then turned and looked back.  
  
"Stay with the bird. Just in case."  
  
Murdock watched, mouth open, as Hannibal disappeared into the night.  
  
*****  
  
The door opened, suddenly, and the light from the hall nearly blinded him as he scrambled up and away from the table. Not enough so he didn't see the man come into the room. Then the bulb overhead, high up on the ceiling, flickered on, the door closed, and he looked, squinting, at the new occupant.  
  
It took him a moment to realize this was not another guard. Another moment to see the wooden baseball bat in his hand. And the calm look on his face.  
  
He wasn't the smartest man in the world, but he knew he was in a world of trouble. He had a pretty good idea who this guy was. But he was a Marine, after all. He'd been in combat and more than a good share of bar fights. He'd just as soon not be here, but he wasn't going to back down.  
  
The man looked at him for a moment, then smiled and slowly placed the bat on the table. Stepped back, still smiling. Almost...inviting him to grab it.  
  
The Marine licked his suddenly dry lips.  
  
*****  
  
The gate was closed, locked. No lights in the villa that Hannibal could see. He rang the bell. Waited. No sign of the caretaker. What was his name? Pin.  
  
He rang the bell again, and stepped back, looking up and down the street. Then he saw them.  
  
Small bouquets of flowers, placed against the wrought-iron fence. Candles burned down to mere stubs. He stepped closer.  
  
Two small pictures.  
  
One was of the caretaker.  
  
The other...  
  
Hannibal stared bleakly up at the dark villa, then began climbing over the fence.  
  
*****  
  
Lam Thanh was waiting nervously on the corner. He heard someone coming down the street, stumbling. He stepped around the building and collided violently with him. For a moment, he thought his friend was going to hit him. Instead, the man fell back against the building, breathing hard. Even in the low light of the street, he could see dark blood on him.  
  
"You are hurt. I will take you..."  
  
"No. I've got the address. Get your people. He'll have friends there."  
  
"I'll call them. But let us handle this. You should not be involved any further."  
  
Peck pushed himself upright, took a deep breath, slowly let it out.  
  
"I'm going. You can have him when I'm done."  
  
*****  
  
It didn't take long for Hannibal to realize the villa was empty. He stopped, looking at the suitcases just inside the bedroom door. What the hell had happened? Car accident? And where was Peck?  
  
He moved back to the living room, grabbing the phone. It took a while for the operator to understand his garbled Vietnamese, but eventually he was put through to the local police station. After more fumbling, they were able to find someone who spoke English.  
  
At the mention of Dao Quy, there was a sudden silence. The voice on the other end came back cold, impassive, suggesting he contact the military police.  
  
The line went dead.  
  
Hannibal hung up, feeling icy cold. Minutes later he was on his way to CID headquarters.  
  
*****  
  
"I can't believe this. Why wasn't I told before now?"  
  
"On our end? Because we just got handed My Lai on a platter, that's why. The last thing we need is some other damn reporter finding out about this. Our orders were to keep it quiet, at least until we find that jerk off that killed them. What I'm wondering is why didn't Peck contact you? You're his CO."  
  
Hannibal had an idea, but he wasn't going to bring this guy into team business. He looked coldly at the agent. "You know what this is really all about."  
  
"Doesn't take a rocket scientist. Those jarheads don't know when to quit. Just one more reason to keep it quiet." He pulled some papers out of the desk drawer. "You're not going to like this any better. JAG contacted me this morning."  
  
"Oh, yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. Peck was...put in touch with this woman through a man who's very prominent. Has a lot of connections both in and out of the government. Connections that certain people don't want compromised."  
  
"So even if you find this murdering bastard, they're going to cover it up!"  
  
"Not my call, Colonel. I know what I'd do with them, but...tomorrow morning they'll be on their way to Long Binh. One year hard labor, dishonorable discharges, heavy fines, five years suspended sentences if they keep their noses clean up there." The agent shook his head. "They want them out, they want them quiet."  
  
The door to the office slammed open, and both men jumped as a corporal practically fell in.  
  
"Sir! One of the prisoners is missing, Sir!"  
  
*****  
  
They'd made two quick stops, one so Lam Thanh could call in his men, before going to the address Peck had gotten. They stayed in the car at the end of the street, waiting. They'd hardly spoken since getting in the car back at the Army brig. Lam Thanh straightened up when finally, after what seemed like years, he saw his head man come out of the dilapidated building in the middle of the street.  
  
Peck, who had been staring out the side window, didn't react at all.  
  
Lam Thanh's man came up to the driver's window and bent down, speaking softly. Standing back up, he looked up and down the street, carefully tucking the revolver in his belt and covering it with his jacket. Then he nodded.  
  
"Okay, Em. The man you are looking for is inside. His friends are gone. I'm asking you now, to let this go. Think of Dao Quy. Would she want this?"  
  
Peck stared ahead, at the building which two men were now guarding. He sat for a moment, then looked at Lam Thanh.  
  
"No, she wouldn't want this. But then, she's dead, isn't she?" He stepped out of the car and slowly walked up the street.  
  
Lam Thanh watched until he entered. He sighed deeply and nodded to his man by the car, who followed Peck inside.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock woke with a start. Hannibal was pounding on the windshield of the chopper.  
  
Loud.  
  
He blinked as the rising sun struck him in the face, and more or less slid out onto the tarmac.  
  
"Hannibal, damn, where you been? You look like..."  
  
"Never mind that. You go on back to Nha Trang, let Darnell know I'm going to be down here for a couple more days. Tell him I'll explain when I get back."  
  
"Colonel, what the hell is going on?"  
  
"Peck's been arrested."


	15. Chapter 15

**November 1969**  
  
The entire building had been locked down. Hannibal, much to his disgust, had been forced to wait in the agent's office while a search was made. But you don't argue with the investigative arm of the Army. They weren't just enforcers like the MPs, and they weren't corrupt locals like the White Mice. They meant business. With Peck's career and maybe more on the line, he didn't intend to aggravate them. He did check the file cabinets under "P", but they were locked tight. One day he'd have to learn how to break in with some finesse; for now, all he could do was stare at it.  
  
It was nearly an hour later that he heard a siren, coming fast. He watched out of the window as it pulled up to one of the back doors, held open by several MPs, and the medics rushed in.  
  
Hannibal paced the office for a long time. A very long time. Finally, he saw the medics come out with a man on a gurney. Even from the office, he could see he was badly beaten. He watched as the ambulance started up and tore off in the direction of the hospital. Minutes later, the CID agent came slamming through the door, glaring at Hannibal.  
  
"Come with me."  
  
Hannibal didn't question him. He followed the agent out to his Jeep, and they raced after the ambulance. At the hospital, Hannibal tried to stay out of the way, but at the same time, he was watching.  
  
Wondering if Peck would also be there.  
  
He'd wandered outside for a cigar when the agent, Brookmeyer, finally came looking for him. He didn't look happy.  
  
"He'll be okay, but he's bashed up pretty good."  
  
"Did he say what happened?"  
  
"Not quite. Said some Arvin came and took him down in the basement, then another guy came in and beat the shit out of him, trying to find out where his buddy, Mark Elkin, was."  
  
"Could he ID the guy?"  
  
"Strangely enough, no. But I have a pretty good idea who it was, just like you do."  
  
"Elkin? That's the killer?"  
  
"The alleged killer, yeah."  
  
"So did this guy tell you where Elkins is?"  
  
"Only after I threatened him with being an accessory after the fact for whatever happens to the bastard. I've got some men on their way now."  
  
Hannibal dropped the cigar and smiled softly. "Shall we join them?"  
  
*****  
  
He looked up at the stairs leading to their...his apartment. It seemed to go up forever. He wondered, ridiculously he knew, if he started up them, and kept going, and going, for as high as they seemed to go, if he would find Dao Quy waiting at the top.  
  
No.  
  
Maybe if it was a ladder.  
  
Jacob's Ladder.  
  
Yeah.  
  
No.  
  
He shook his head, which was a mistake. If it hadn't been for Lam Thanh grabbing his arm, he would've gone down right then and there.  
  
Lam Thanh. He'd owe him big time now. Big time. Especially after the cops came calling. Soon.  
  
They started up the stairs, slowly. So slowly. He was surprised when they were suddenly at the top. He'd only taken a couple of steps. Hadn't he?  
  
Bed. He really needed to lay down. Sleep. No, forget the cuts. Forget them. Doesn't matter. Just let me sleep.  
  
No!  
  
No, not in there. Never in there. The other room. The other bed.  
  
Not our bed.  
  
Not her bed.  
  
*****  
  
When they arrived at the address, Brookmeyer's men had yet to enter the building. They had it surrounded, and a few MPs were standing by a group of Vietnamese at the corner. Brookmeyer went over to confer with his men, and then came back to stand by Hannibal.  
  
"Had a bit of crowd problem." He nodded at the group on the corner. "Friends of Elkins, looks like. Somebody must have tipped off the Americans."  
  
Hannibal looked puzzled.  
  
"This is the area of Saigon where a lot of AWOLs head for. Another reason we came out in force. The Americans generally disappear, but sometimes their 'protectors' get a little rambunctious. Don't like to see their meal tickets hauled away."  
  
"So is he in there?"  
  
"That's what we're told." Brookmeyer frowned.  
  
"Problem?"  
  
"Something we're not being told. They saw something, know something, but they aren't talking. So we're going to move a little slower than we normally would."  
  
"You think the guy that beat up the Marine is here?"  
  
"Might be. Or been and gone. We're about to find out." He signaled his men, and they began moving in on the building.  
  
Just like walking into a village when you didn't know whose side it belonged to.  
  
Hannibal didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until one of the MPs stepped out of the building, minutes later, waving at them. He and Brookmeyer both took off at a fast trot. When they reached the door, the MP shook his head.  
  
"Gone?"  
  
"Dead, Sir."  
  
*****  
  
As they'd expected, it didn't take long for the MPs to show up at the villa. Lam Thanh was long gone. He couldn't be found there.  
  
How long it actually took him to wake up he had no idea. Must have been some time, because the MPs weren't real happy when he finally got down to the gate. He knew they would take one look at him, battered and bruised, and know they had their guy. He hadn't expected to be treated like royalty, but he was a little surprised with the vehemence in which they got him into their Jeep.  
  
Maybe they knew Cook, too.  
  
The ride to CID was rough. He'd stiffened up, in bed, and now he was feeling the bruises as they hit every pothole they could see. His head hurt. A lot.  
  
Then they were going inside. The lights were bright. Really, really bright. He wanted to cover his eyes but the MPs were holding onto him. He was taken into some kind of office, shoved into a chair. Then the MPs left.  
  
He put his head down on the table. He couldn't sit upright anymore. He just wanted to go back to sleep.  
  
He heard the door open. It took him a second, to brace himself, but he sat up. Blinked, trying to focus.  
  
Two men. One of them looked familiar.  
  
No. Couldn't be. He didn't even know...  
  
First thing the one guy wanted to know was what happened to him. He started to tell them, then remembered. Had to concentrate now. Remember.  
  
"I got mugged."  
  
That made the guy mad. Figured. Guy wanted him to confess. Make his job easy.  
  
Tough shit.  
  
Man, he was tired. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a second. Just a second.  
  
"Lieutenant Peck!"  
  
Shit. Would that guy ever shut up?  
  
Then the second guy started talking. Sure sounded like Hannibal. Couldn't be. The colonel was up in...Nha something.  
  
He sounded angry, too. But he was talking to the first guy. Good. He really didn't want to listen to them anyway. Either one of them.  
  
He heard the door close. Looked up, surprised to see the second guy was still there. More questions. Stick to the story. The story.  
  
Wait. He forgot. Damn. Concentrate. Had to tell them...alibi. That's right. Had to give them his alibi.  
  
That second stop. The visit with the White Mice. All on the record. Sorry, guys. I was being mugged. I was reporting it. I was with Lam Thanh. Call him. He'll tell you.  
  
The door opened and the first guy came in. The two of them talking, keeping their voices low. He closed his eyes.  
  
Then he was being led out of the office, down the Hall of Lights, outside. No Jeep this time. Cab. Nice. Nicer, anyway.  
  
There were those stairs again.  
  
No Dao Quy at the top, though. Not for him. He automatically took a right, headed for the guest room. Somebody took his arm, tried to take him in...there. He jerked free, stumbled into the right room and fell on the bed.  
  
Saw Dao Quy waiting for him as his eyes closed.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal closed the door softly, grabbed his coffee from the counter and walked slowly out to the patio. The sun had moved so it was beating down on this side of the villa now, and he sank into a chair, trying to get his thoughts together. Hard to think when it was so hot, and yet it didn't seem to take away the chill he felt.  
  
He'd rushed back to CID headquarters after sending Murdock back, arriving shortly before the MPs arrived with Peck. After doing more fast-talking than he'd imagined possible, he'd gotten Peck released into his custody. Peck hadn't said one word to him the entire way back to the villa. Not even a thank you.  
  
Not that Hannibal could blame him. He looked liked he'd been through the An Lao Valley, and more than once. Hannibal had offered to clean up some of the rougher looking cuts and gashes, but Peck just waved him off and went to bed.  
  
In the guestroom.  
  
He was still sleeping, as far as Hannibal could tell. He imagined Peck hadn't slept much the last few days. Or eaten. Or anything else except plan...  
  
Planned too well. Or not enough. Hard to tell. Hannibal shook his head.  
  
Typical.  
  
*****  
  
"I am sorry to disturb you at this time of night, Lam Thanh. But we have a serious situation on our hands, and your name has come up."  
  
Lam Thanh smiled benignly and stepped back from his door. He watched Brookmeyer carefully as he passed. The major was nobody's fool, that Lam Thanh knew. But he also knew his own position with the Americans. There were many things they would close their eyes to, to keep Lam Thanh 'cooperative'.  
  
Nevertheless, murder was a serious matter. For the Army, they were more concerned with this Marine. For Lam Thanh, and thus some of his connections, avenging the death of one of their own was much more important.  
  
He offered the major some refreshment and made himself comfortable. He knew Brookmeyer would have many questions, but he had his answers ready. Not for the first time did he find himself admiring his American friend, Peck. Even in his grief, or maybe because of the cold anger it brought, he was able to come up with a plan that satisfied both their needs, and yet neither could ever be blamed for it. At least, not in any court.  
  
He smiled to himself, only half-listening to the major's ramblings. Neither man could be blamed, and yet Lam Thanh could take credit for it. So, too, could the lieutenant. He may not have considered that before, but Lam Thanh knew that at some point, that would be of great use to him.  
  
Great use, indeed.  
  
"Yes, Major, I can indeed verify the lieutenant's story. As a matter of fact..."  
  
*****  
  
The phone rang, and Hannibal hurried to grab it before it woke up Peck. It was Brookmeyer. He didn't sound happy at all. Peck was to stay put for now; they were still checking out his story, although so far everything seemed to mesh.  
  
Hannibal hung up, smiling cynically. He'd known the story would check out. Mugged. Right. But Peck had a witness, and they'd actually gone to the police and reported it. Had pictures and everything. Nobody would point out that he looked worse when the MPs picked him than he had immediately after the mugging. Because the witness, an 'old friend', had said he'd stayed with Peck for several hours after they left the cops, to make sure he was okay. No one was going to accuse this 'old friend' of lying. Because he had connections.  
  
Hannibal went out to the patio, where the sun was now hiding behind the buildings across the street. Sat down, thinking.  
  
Brookmeyer knew Peck had beaten up that Marine. Knew it, couldn't prove it. Hannibal knew they could both live with that. Bastard deserved it.  
  
But Elkins was another matter.  
  
They'd gotten the path report back. He'd been beaten to death; that was obvious. But the path report couldn't tell them by whom.  
  
Hannibal sipped his drink. Watched as the glow from the sunset dimmed.  
  
Brookmeyer was positive Peck was involved. Knew he'd had at least a part in both beatings. Knew it. Couldn't prove it. Not yet.  
  
Brookmeyer believed it. Hannibal didn't want to.  
  
Hannibal heard the bedroom door open, and he stepped inside. Peck was standing in the living room, pouring a drink at the bar. He looked a hell of a lot worse in the daylight than he had last night. He looked up at Hannibal, expressionless, and slowly made his way back to the bedroom, his drink sloshing onto the carpet as he went. The door closed, and Hannibal heard the lock snap in place.  
  
He shook his head, refreshed his own drink, and moved back to the patio.  
  
Couldn't prove anything. Not guilt.  
  
Not innocence.  
  
*****  
  
Brookmeyer threw the papers down on his desk and headed for the coffeepot. He nearly threw that down when he discovered it empty. He looked at his watch. Two in the morning.  
  
"Winslow! Coffee!"  
  
He went back to the desk as his harried corporal rushed in. Picked up the coroner's report. There had to be something he was missing. He began reading once more, barely noticing when the corporal set a cup of coffee on the desk and slunk out of the office.  
  
Brookmeyer picked up the photos. Those they'd taken at the crime scene, and the coroner's. Hard to believe one man could do that to another.  
  
Hard to believe one man could have done all that damage.  
  
One man...  
  
Brookmeyer picked up the coffee, stared at the photos.  
  
Then he saw it.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal was rummaging in the nearly empty kitchen when he heard the bedroom door open. He looked up to see Peck, dressed only in a pair of rumpled jeans, wander out to the patio. He got a good look at the bruises and scowled.  
  
If that was from a mugging, he was Queen Victoria.  
  
He took the last two cups of coffee out to the patio and placed one on the small table in front of Peck before sitting down opposite him. He gathered his thoughts for a moment and then plunged in.  
  
"I'm sorry about Dao Quy, Lieutenant. Very sorry. I wish you'd let me know."  
  
"And that would have changed anything?"  
  
"No, but...I think it would've helped if someone had been here for you."  
  
Peck looked up at him, and the bruises and cuts there almost made Hannibal wince. Peck's words did.  
  
"I have friends here, Colonel. You'd be surprised."  
  
Peck did not want sympathy. That much was obvious.  
  
"Okay, maybe we should talk about one of those friends. The one that helped you out the other night. And exactly what happened."  
  
"I gave my statement."  
  
"I know what you told CID. I want to know what really happened."  
  
Peck leaned back, and Hannibal could practically see the calculations and strategies running through his head.  
  
"What do you think happened, Colonel?"  
  
"I don't think you were mugged, for one thing."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"So were you?"  
  
Peck smiled sarcastically. "No, I ran into a door."  
  
"Did you beat up that Marine?"  
  
"Which one? Someone said there were two."  
  
"Look, Lieutenant, maybe you don't realize the trouble you're in. This isn't some little scam of yours."  
  
"The trouble is over, Colonel. It's done. Believe me."  
  
"Because of your friend? You really think he can keep you from a murder charge?"  
  
Peck actually went pale at that, but went doggedly on. "There won't be any murder charge. I didn't kill anyone." He picked up the cup and looked over it at Hannibal. "Or do you think I'm lying about that, as well?"  
  
Hannibal hesitated. He didn't want to believe it. No. Peck might have beaten the hell out of the sorry bastard, but...Then again, this was about Dao Quy.  
  
Peck put the cup down and stood, slowly. Waited.  
  
"No, Lieutenant. I don't think you'd do that."  
  
Peck nodded, otherwise expressionless, and went back to his room.  
  
Hannibal sat for a while longer. Wondering if he'd hesitated too long.  
  
Wondering if he, himself, had told the truth.  
  
*****  
  
Brookmeyer pulled the Jeep up in front of the villa and stepped up to the gate, noting the memorials along the fence. Frowning, he reached up and rang the bell. He was about to ring a second time when he saw Colonel Smith coming down the stairs and across the courtyard. He stopped on the other side of the gate. Didn't unlock it.  
  
"I take it this isn't a social call, Major. You need us down at headquarters?"  
  
"No, Colonel. Actually, I'm just heading home, but I thought I'd let you know that your man is free to go."  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
"Yeah. We found a mark on the body. Type of thing the local street lords like to use as a reminder not to mess with them. I figure someone didn't like his merchandise being murdered, decided to make an example of him."  
  
"I see. So you're going after her pimp."  
  
"We'll be working with the White...local police, yeah." He knew Smith understood it would go no further. You couldn't find a more corrupt group than the National Police.  
  
"Okay, Major. I appreciate your coming here and letting me know."  
  
"Do me a favor, Colonel. Get Peck out of here, before any more trouble comes his way."  
  
Smith nodded and turned, heading back up to the apartment. Brookmeyer looked up at the balcony, saw Peck standing there, watching.  
  
Brookmeyer clenched his jaw and stepped to his Jeep.  
  
"One day, Peck, one day..."


	16. Chapter 16

**January 1970**  
  
Hannibal pulled up in the Jeep, staring at the people and equipment moving hurriedly around the site. Still staring, he climbed out and headed toward the nearest building, finally forcing his attention away from the activity outside and looking for a certain lieutenant.  
  
Stepping inside, he was amazed at the number of people scurrying around, all with very determined looks on their faces. No goldbricks here. Hannibal shook his head. Figured. Only one person could get these guys to work this hard during a stand-down.  
  
Then he spotted his quarry, across the room, conferring with a big, burly sergeant. He was going to call out but was cut off by two soldiers carrying a huge painting past him. He stared at the subject for only a moment before stepping around them. The lieutenant was just heading out the back door. Grimly, Hannibal made his way through the mess and followed.  
  
He saw him again, heading over to the side, where the forklifts were waiting, their drivers smoking as they chatted and gestured. At the rate he was moving, Hannibal would never catch up.  
  
"Face!"  
  
He saw it then. That very slight but noticeable jerk. Still, after almost two months. What Hannibal wouldn't give to have that afternoon chat back, to find some other stupid nickname to saddle him with. He could see, as if it were happening right in front of him, the look in Peck's eyes when they first got back to Nha Trang.  
  
Murdock was the first to see them pull up in front of the hootch. He'd come racing out, followed closely by BA and Wiley.  
  
"Faceman! 'Bout time you got back!" Murdock stopped in his tracks when he saw Peck's injuries. "My God, what...?"  
  
BA and Wiley were down by the Jeep by then, both obviously puzzled.  
  
"Hey, man, where's the little woman? What happened to you guys, anyway?"  
  
Hannibal had hesitated, waiting to see how Peck would explain. Even knowing how Peck had acted in Saigon, he was shocked.  
  
"She stayed in Saigon. Her, uh, brother didn't take kindly to an American stepping in." Peck laughed, gesturing to his bruises. "Rather strong opinions on that, as a matter of fact."  
  
"But, Hannibal said you got arrested." Murdock looked from one to the other, and Peck shot a quick and angry look at Hannibal.  
  
"Just a...misunderstanding." Murdock opened his mouth but Hannibal cut him off. "No trouble, Murdock. Really."  
  
"So, you just gonna let her brother..."  
  
"Guys, I appreciate the concern, but, uh, right now I'd just as soon get unpacked and go have a beer, okay?"  
  
"Sure, Faceman. Sure." BA and Wiley stepped back from the door, now looking warily at Hannibal.  
  
Peck turned to look at them. "Uh, what's with the 'Faceman' thing?"  
  
"Hannibal decided you needed a name 'sides Peck. Fits, don't it?" BA actually grinned.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, sure does."  
  
It was obvious to Hannibal that what he had planned on being a bit of a joke had, to his lieutenant, become an act of betrayal. And Hannibal didn't blame him one bit...  
  
"You want something, Hannibal?" Face had come trotting up and looked harried.  
  
"Just wondering what the hell is going on here. I mean, I know you were putting up an officer's club, but..."  
  
"No, no, that's changed. Now it's just a club for servicemen, period. The DMV Tennis and Racquetball Club. Nice ring to it, don't you think?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, but what's going on over there?" Hannibal pointed to where the forklifts were now starting to move.  
  
"Oh, uh, that's the swimming pool. Or will be, very shortly."  
  
"Lieutenant, I don't recall any discussion of a swimming pool. And where the hell did you get it?"  
  
"Well, it was just kinda...sitting there. At the airfield, in an old storage shed. I guess it was one they were going to put in back in '66, and then, for some reason, it never got done. So..."  
  
"So you decided to put it in."  
  
"Well, sure. I mean, it was just..."  
  
"Sitting there, yeah. And who authorized these guys to put it in?"  
  
"They volunteered. I mean, everybody gets to use it, so, why not?"  
  
Hannibal looked at Face. A sleeping baby couldn't have looked more innocent. Hannibal shook his head and headed around the building for his Jeep. If it kept him occupied...  
  
He just hoped Darnell didn't come around for a long, long time.  
  
 **February 1970**  
  
"Hannibal, I don't think this is a good idea. We've already hit this guy three times."  
  
"Yeah, and each time we found out a little more about how he operates. I think we know enough now so we can take him out for good."  
  
Face looked at him, skeptical. BA and Wiley just stared at the ground. Murdock started whistling softly.  
  
Hannibal frowned. "Okay, so what's the problem?"  
  
"For one thing, we just hit him two days ago, so he's going to be on alert. Second, we don't even know for sure this is his camp. And third, the last time we just barely got out in one piece."  
  
"One, he's not going to be expecting us to hit him again so quickly, and definitely not from this direction." Hannibal pointed to the map. "Second, this bunch is heading north, and where else would a VC general run when he's been hit so often? Third, we aren't exploring this time; we know exactly what we're going to run into."  
  
"Right, Hannibal..."  
  
*****  
  
"I told you it wasn't a good idea."  
  
Face glared up from the bed at the field hospital. Hannibal looked from him to Wiley, sitting on the stool next to him, to BA, standing by the next bed where Murdock was having his forehead stitched.  
  
"Okay, so it wasn't the greatest of ideas. But it worked, right?"  
  
"Yeah, that's why Faceman's got a slug in his leg, and Murdock's bird is back in the jungle. Worked just fine, Hannibal." BA's glare was almost as baleful as Face's. He was sporting a large bandage on his upper arm.  
  
"Yeah, Hannibal, we shoulda quit when we was ahead. We had the general; didn't need to go after the captain, too." Wiley shifted, trying to keep his wrapped ankle straight.  
  
"Okay, okay, so we took a couple hits. But nothing serious, right? I mean, yeah, Face's going to be out for two or three weeks, and Murdock's grounded for a bit," here he received the third hard glare of the day, "and Wiley's gonna be a little stiff, but otherwise, it's just...a few scratches. Right? Right?"  
  
*****  
  
"I don't like it. They shoulda been back this morning."  
  
"They'll be fine. BA can wire explosives in his sleep. And Hannibal knows his way around Cambodia like nobody else."  
  
Wiley looked at him over the bar. Face was leaning back on a stool, carefully checking a glass for spots. He frowned and started rubbing it with a towel.  
  
"Damn it, Peck, you act like that fucking glass is more important than Hannibal and BA!"  
  
Face looked up. "What?"  
  
"They missed their extraction! Anything could've happened. They could be dead, you son of a bitch!" Wiley slammed his glass down on the bar and stalked out.  
  
Murdock looked over from his seat, watched as Wiley slammed out of the club. He frowned at Face, who was passively watching the door.  
  
"He didn't mean it, Face."  
  
"Sure he did." He went back to wiping glasses. "Wiley never says anything he doesn't mean."  
  
"Oh, hell, Face! He knows you're just as worried as the rest of us."  
  
"Am I? Worrying doesn't do any good, Murdock. Either they come back or they don't. That's the way it works in a war."  
  
"Face! Jesus, man, this isn't just anybody. This is Hannibal and BA."  
  
"Does that matter? Is God going to watch out for them any more than anyone else? Grow up, Murdock."  
  
"I don't get you, Face. Hannibal's gone out of his way to look out for you, and the rest of us have tried to make you feel like a real part of the team - and you don't care, do you? You really don't give a damn."  
  
Murdock pushed away from the bar, the chair toppling over on its back as he stalked out of the bar. He stopped, blinking, in the afternoon sun, and then saw Wiley up ahead, kicking a can along the path. He hurried to catch up. Wiley looked up angrily.  
  
"Don't give me any of that 'Peck really is a nice guy' bullshit, Murdock. I don't wanna hear it."  
  
"Hey, you won't get it from me." Wiley stopped, staring. "Okay, I know I've been in his corner since the camps, but, shit, maybe your instincts were right all along. I mean, he just told me...hell. I don't think he does care, man. We're just another bunch of grunts to him."  
  
"I told you, Murdock. If he hadn't been in hot water with Wrenn, no way he'd've switched over to us. The guy's just looking for whatever unit will suit his needs. If Hannibal hadn't let him open that damn club, he woulda found some other CO to take him on, let him do what he wanted. The only thing he cares about is money."  
  
Murdock frowned. "Well, there was that girl..."  
  
Wiley snorted. "Oh yeah, right. Cared so much for her he took off when her brother beat the snot out of him. Wouldn't even fight for her."  
  
"Yeah, maybe. I think there was something more to that. Even Hannibal was acting strange when they got back."  
  
"Hannibal mollycoddles him."  
  
"Well..."  
  
"C'mon, Murdock. He's got Hannibal wrapped around his little finger and you know it. If Peck's worried at all, it's because he's afraid his meal ticket might be out the window."  
  
Murdock sighed. "Hannibal does let him get by with shit no one else would."  
  
"When they do get back, somebody better set Hannibal straight. That's one LT that's just waiting for a fragging, man."  
  
"Wiley! Don't even say that, man!"  
  
"Hey, it won't be me. But he's gonna piss somebody off once too often, Murdock. Believe it."  
  
*****  
  
Face finished wiping the glass, placing it carefully on the shelf with the others, adjusting it so it was lined up perfectly. He limped around the bar, picked up the chair and set it carefully up against the bar, adjusting it so matched the others perfectly. Moving back behind the bar, he picked up a damp towel and started wiping the down the bar, making sure every water spot, every sticky spot, disappeared. He worked his way slowly down the long surface. It was a beautiful bar, really. A friend of his in Saigon had found it, gotten it for him in a really sweet deal.  
  
He stopped at the far end of the bar, the towel moving in a smaller and smaller circle until he was barely moving it. Then he stopped completely, and stared out the open back door, the door that opened out to a small field and then the jungle beyond and then the mountains beyond that.  
  
And over those mountains was Cambodia. And Hannibal. And BA.  
  
*****  
  
"I tol ya we shoulda..."  
  
"Yeah, I know, BA, but it worked. And we got a nice little present for the fellas in Fat City."  
  
"And almost got ourselves caught taking that gook, too."  
  
"But we didn't, right? C'mon, Face, how about another round? On the house," Hannibal added, wryly.  
  
"You guys are going to put me out of business." Face smiled as he said it, and started pouring more drinks.  
  
"You'd just find some other scam."  
  
There was a sudden silence at Wiley's tone, then Face laughed and nodded. "You're right, Wiley. I've got a list as long as your arm, just waiting for the right time."  
  
The rest of the men laughed, but it was a brittle laughter. Hannibal had been watching his men. Face was acting like he always did. And Hannibal knew it was acting. But he wasn't sure what was going on with Wiley and Murdock.  
  
Wiley had actually started mellowing toward Face after he got back from Saigon. As much as Wiley ever would, anyway. Oil and water, those two. But the truce they'd apparently come to seemed to have vanished in the three days Hannibal and BA were gone.  
  
But Murdock really puzzled him. Of any of the guys, Murdock seemed to be the only one who'd formed any kind of friendship with Face. No matter how much Face pissed off the others with his off-duty behavior, Murdock was always there to find an excuse for him, to smooth ruffled feathers.  
  
But now, Murdock just sat at the table, quiet. No joshing around, no placating. Nothing. Hannibal didn't think Murdock had said one word to Face the whole time they'd been in the club.  
  
What the hell had Peck done this time?  
  
Suddenly, Hannibal felt tired. He downed his drink in one swallow and stood. The others looked up in surprise.  
  
"Okay, guys, I'm going to have a ton of reports to do tomorrow. Face, I'll see you first thing in the morning. And I mean, first thing."  
  
"Sure, Hannibal."  
  
He nodded to the others and walked out. Within a few minutes, the others followed, leaving Face tending to his other customers.  
  
He poured himself a short drink and waved the glass in the direction of the door.  
  
"Welcome back, Hannibal."  
  
 **March 1970**  
  
"Quite the set up you have here, Lieutenant. Very nice."  
  
Face looked up, startled, from the table where he'd been playing poker.  
  
"Colonel Wrenn. Haven't seen you for a while."  
  
"I was stateside for a bit. Now I'm back."  
  
Face threw in his cards and excused himself from the table. "Let me buy you a drink, Colonel."  
  
The two men moved to a table in the back corner of the club. One of the cocktail waitresses, a young girl from the nearby village, brought their drinks at a signal from Face. Wrenn watched her, smiling, as she returned to the bar.  
  
"Yeah, very nice setup, Peck. Must have taken some doing to get this going."  
  
"I had some help."  
  
"I'll bet you did." There was a coldness to Wrenn's voice that Face knew very well. "I haven't forgotten that screw up in Saigon, you know."  
  
"No, I didn't think you had."  
  
"What happened? Exactly?"  
  
"Got double-crossed. Happens with people like that."  
  
Wrenn took a sip of his drink, played with the glass. "Won't happen again, will it?"  
  
"What? The double-cross or the deal?"  
  
"Don't play dumb, Peck. And don't think because I was out in the World I don't know what was really going on down there."  
  
Face's eyes narrowed. "And what would that be?"  
  
"A couple of Marines. I've got enough clout I can do some major damage there, Peck."  
  
Face chuckled. "You don't have enough clout to spit, Wrenn. Not with the people you'd be dealing with. Besides, I'm twelve days and a wake-up. You don't have time to do a damn thing."  
  
"Maybe not. Then again, there's always Smith."  
  
Face almost dropped his glass, but held on and calmly set it down on the table.  
  
"What's Smith got to do with any of this?"  
  
Wrenn smiled. "Smith's got a long time to go over here, Peck. If he's lucky." Wrenn stood, still smiling. "But it's a tricky thing, this war. Never know where the enemy might show up."  
  
"Wrenn, you son of a bitch..."  
  
"If I were you, Lieutenant, I'd consider extending. This place is a real land of opportunity. For you - and your friends." Wrenn turned and sauntered out of the club.  
  
*****  
  
"I don't understand this. Why?"  
  
Face shrugged. "I just barely got the DMV club going, Hannibal. Doesn't make much sense to walk away and start all over back in the States."  
  
"You don't have to worry about getting your head blown off in the States, Lieutenant."  
  
"I don't understand the problem, Colonel. Now you don't have to worry about some cherry coming in, or replacing the best damn supply officer you've ever had."  
  
Hannibal sat back in his chair, smiling despite himself. "I'll admit I was concerned about finding a decent replacement. At the same time, I'm not sure you're giving me the real reason. I'm not even sure I want to know."  
  
"So we're square, then, Hannibal?"  
  
"Sure, Face. Welcome back."  
  
Hannibal sat for a long time after Peck left, knowing full well the return of Colonel Wrenn figured into this sudden turn of events.  
  
It had to.  
  
 **December 1970**  
  
"So what are you going to do, Murdock?"  
  
Murdock shrugged. He'd been with the 281st for so long, he couldn't imagine going to any other unit. But the thought of going back to the World, working for some airline or crop duster, just didn't appeal to him. Besides...  
  
"I've been talking to the guys over at the 134th. Seem like pretty decent guys."  
  
Hannibal nodded. "Yeah, I've heard really good things about them. But are you sure you don't want out? I mean, you've been over here a long time, Murdock. Maybe...too long."  
  
Murdock's head shot up and he glared at Hannibal. "You think I'm nuts, too?"  
  
"No, I'm not saying that, Murdock. But every day anybody's over here lessens his chances of going home. You've been pushing the envelope for a long time."  
  
Murdock stood, paced the length of the hootch before once more flopping down in his chair. "Colonel, I know that Face has been talking to you. About me, I mean. And I know I do some strange things up there - and, okay, on the ground, too. But it's just letting off steam, no matter what Face thinks. That's it. But...I've heard the rumors about you and Morrison, too."  
  
Hannibal straightened. "What rumors, Murdock?  
  
Murdock squirmed then. He knew no one was supposed to know anything, but...  
  
"Just that, well, he's got something really big planned. Something he picked you and the other guys for. Specifically you guys."  
  
Hannibal kept looking at him, expression blank. "And?"  
  
"And so, if it's as big as rumors have it, you're gonna need a pilot you know. One that knows how you operate. One that won't get rattled when you change plans."  
  
Hannibal sighed. Someone in Morrison's office had a big mouth. He'd have to talk to the colonel about that. Not even the team had the whole picture yet. But Murdock was right. They needed someone they could count on, someone they trusted. Someone who'd be willing to take the risk right along with them.  
  
But what if Face was right? What if Murdock was becoming unstable? What if he didn't have control of things the way he claimed?  
  
"Colonel, let me transfer over to the 134th and fly this mission with you guys. After that, if you still want me out, I'll go. But I just...I just got this feeling..."  
  
"Okay, Murdock, okay. I'll talk to your CO, see what I can do to help out. But, Murdock..."  
  
"Yeah, Colonel?"  
  
Hannibal hesitated, but he had to say it. "Just...keep it together. Especially around Face. He's not as willing to be gulled as I am."  
  
"You got that right, Colonel."  
  
Hannibal frowned as Murdock walked out. He believed Murdock; at least, he believed him enough to think the pilot would pull back if he thought he couldn't handle it.  
  
Face was another matter. He'd come to Hannibal a couple of times over the last few weeks, concerned about Murdock's erratic behavior. Hannibal had tried to brush it off; the rest had all noticed it since the camps, but Face had been gone...  
  
And now Hannibal knew that Murdock was aware of it. He truly believed that Face was concerned about Murdock, but would Murdock believe that?  
  
He shook his head. Things used to be so simple.  
  
Before Peck came on board.


	17. Chapter 17

**July 1976**  
  
"What do you mean, Wiley? Nothing against who?"  
  
"Face..."  
  
"Face?" Hannibal's jaw dropped, BA straightened and stared, and Murdock...Murdock stood so suddenly his chair nearly tipped over.  
  
Wiley flinched. He knew he had to tell them, but it was so hard. They would hate him, but he had to make things right.  
  
"What about Face?" Murdock's voice was low, too calm.  
  
Hannibal impatiently motioned for Murdock to sit, and BA pulled him quickly back down. He glared at the other two, but kept his mouth shut.  
  
"It's okay, Wiley. We're listening."  
  
Wiley slowly shook his head.  
  
"You listened to me too much already, Hannibal..."  
  
 **January 20 1971**  
  
Wiley stepped into the hootch and saw Peck sitting at Hannibal's desk. As usual. Hannibal never seemed to mind, as Peck was typically taking care of stuff Hannibal didn't want to mess with, but it irritated Wiley. The last guy Hannibal had for his XO was a captain, and he never sat at Hannibal's desk.  
  
Peck looked up just then and Wiley noticed the slight hesitation before that smile was plastered on his face. 'Face'. Where the hell had Hannibal come up with that, anyway?  
  
"Morning, Wiley. Hannibal will be here in a minute. Just finishing up some reqs for him."  
  
Wiley nodded and sat down. He wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. For one thing, he was nursing a hangover from the night before. He and BA had raised some hell over at Peck's club, gotten "asked to leave", and then gone into town. Peck hadn't been there, but Wiley was pretty sure he'd heard about it. And as soon as BA got here, Wiley was quite sure they'd hear about it.  
  
Wiley was surprised to see Murdock come rambling in. He had assumed that whatever this next recon was, Murdock would be the pilot, but he generally went over his part with Hannibal and his own CO. Wiley looked at Peck, but he just nodded at Murdock and went back to his paperwork. Murdock, in turn, barely acknowledged Peck's nod, but he smiled briefly at Wiley and continued wandering around.  
  
When BA arrived, Wiley knew for certain something was going on. BA looked as bad as Wiley felt, and plopped heavily into the chair beside him. Both looked over at Peck, expecting the usual lecture about behaving themselves, not taking advantage of his ownership of the club.  
  
Peck was completely involved with his work.  
  
Wiley looked at BA, who looked back and shrugged. Murdock finally sat down at the table across from them, drumming lightly on the table. Other than that and the drone of activity outside, it was quiet. Peck looked up once, frowning at Murdock's tapping. The pilot grimaced and put his hands in his lap under the table. Peck went back to his writing.  
  
Wiley was about ready to start crawling the walls when Hannibal finally strode through the door. Peck immediately stood and stacked his paperwork before taking the last chair at the table.  
  
The first thing Wiley noticed was Hannibal didn't have a cigar in his mouth. Nor was he grinning as he stepped to the head of the table. Wiley looked at BA, who again shrugged. Peck and Murdock just sat, watching Hannibal.  
  
Something was definitely going on.  
  
"Okay, guys. We've got a job, and it's big. It's also very hush hush. One word, just one little word leaks out and we are history. And I mean that."  
  
Wiley couldn't help shooting a glance across the table at Peck, but he was still watching Hannibal. Did he know what this was all about?  
  
Hannibal glanced at the open windows before pulling a chair up to the table. He leaned his elbows on the table as he sat, and looked at each one of his men before continuing. Wiley wasn't liking this one bit.  
  
"Morrison has a plan that sounds too fantastic even for us. But if we can pull it off, we could put an end to this war months ahead of schedule."  
  
"Yeah, like there's a schedule." BA snorted, shaking his head.  
  
Hannibal frowned but continued. "This is going to be a bit different from our usual, guys. We aren't going into Cambodia, or Laos."  
  
Wiley felt a sudden trickle of sweat run down his back. Like the rest, he found himself sitting up a bit straighter.  
  
"This time, we're making a house call to Uncle Ho," Hannibal suddenly grinned, "and break into his piggy bank."  
  
 **January 21 1971**  
  
The sun had been up for some time already, and the guys were getting restless. They had a long series of flights ahead of them before the really hard work started, and they were anxious to get started. Especially with the timetable they had.  
  
Wiley sat on a box by the hangar door, whittling. He never made anything, just kept scraping away until he basically ended up with a toothpick. Which was just as well, as he tended to chew on them almost constantly now. Dumbest thing in the world, quitting smoking while over here. Well, almost the dumbest.  
  
He looked up the road. Still no sign of Hannibal. Damn Morrison. Always took his own sweet time about everything. Sometimes Wiley thought he did it just to irritate Hannibal. He couldn't figure that brass ass out. He knew Morrison respected Hannibal, and the team, for that matter. He'd heard that from any number of people. At the same time, the guy seemed to take every opportunity to screw them over in some way or another.  
  
He looked over at the others. Peck was going over his checklist, as usual. Wiley knew that he'd read it over several more times, then tear it up into little pieces and toss it. Guy was strange that way. Murdock was over by the chopper, going over his own checklist for the hundredth time. It would be a long haul for him, too, and then he had to come all the way back again. BA was dozing against his pack. Couldn't have been too comfortable; they were packing lean this trip. Real lean. They'd be living off the land after they hit the LZ. Wiley was surprised he could sleep anyway. After that last time Murdock got shot down, he'd been like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs when he had to fly. But he still got on board.  
  
Wiley looked up the road again. Finally. He could just see Hannibal off in the distance. Walking fast, but walking. He had his habits, too. Never ride when you could walk. Probably why he could keep up with guys half his age.  
  
He was about to let the others know when he noticed Peck had gone over to the bird, was talking to Murdock. Murdock didn't look any too happy about it, but Peck just kept talking anyway.  
  
Figured.  
  
Wiley stood, stretched, and walked over to BA, giving him a little kick in the shins. He automatically moved back when he did it; BA was his best friend, but he could still knock your ass off.  
  
"Hannibal's comin, BA. Open them beautiful brown eyes, darlin."  
  
BA mumbled something about a duck and Wiley grinned. He took one last look around before grabbing his own pack and heading for the chopper.  
  
Yessir, a good day to die. Wiley laughed.  
  
Fuck that, John Wayne.  
  
Wiley and BA tossed their gear in and took their places. Wiley noticed, with some apprehension, that there was no door gunner. Then he realized there was no crew chief either. Wiley shook his head. Maybe they were lucky Morrison had even gotten them a pilot.  
  
Peck gave Murdock a slap on the shoulder and turned to greet Hannibal. Wiley caught Murdock's eye for a moment. He could've sworn Murdock deliberately looked away. What had Peck been telling him now?  
  
"Got the official orders, Hannibal?"  
  
"I've got them safely squirreled away, Face. As if paperwork ever bothered you."  
  
"Hey, this is Morrison's baby. Damn right I'm worried about paperwork. I want every 'i' dotted and 't' crossed. In triplicate."  
  
Wiley smirked at Hannibal's frown. Peck sounding like he was in charge again.  
  
"Well, it's all there. And Captain Curtis was standing right in the office when Morrison signed the orders. So everything's cool, Lieutenant."  
  
Peck still didn't look happy as he turned to get on the chopper and saw Wiley grinning at him. They all knew Hannibal didn't call him 'lieutenant' unless he was getting pissed at him. Wiley and BA always got a charge out of it.  
  
Hannibal took the co-pilot's seat. Peck looked at both BA and Wiley, and smiled as he nodded at Wiley, then at the M60 hanging by the door. Wiley glared back but took his position without saying anything. Somebody had to, but damn it, Peck didn't have to look so happy about it.  
  
Murdock let out his customary war whoop, and Wiley automatically checked his harness. Some of these guys would just take off, expect a fella to hang on as best he could. And when they were loaded down the way the guys in the 281st would, it could get pretty damn bumpy before they got in the air.  
  
The first leg, to Da Nang, was uneventful. Thankfully Murdock didn't go all out, to preserve fuel. But they didn't get shot at, and that made it all the nicer. BA had settled down for another nap; Peck just stared out into space. He did that a lot now; Wiley wondered if he had second thoughts about extending. After what seemed like forever, they got to Da Nang, and everyone clambered out and stretched. They took off again as soon as the chopper was refueled; they'd have to make one more fuel stop before getting to Udon.  
  
Hannibal moved into the back of the chopper at Da Nang, and BA took over as door gunner. Wiley was relieved, in a way, but he couldn't help but wonder who would be there on the next leg. Hannibal told him and Peck to get some sleep if they could, and Wiley put his worry aside for the moment. He knew as well as the others that sleep would be a precious commodity over the next couple of weeks.  
  
He was awakened almost immediately by gunfire. He should have expected it; they were flying over Laos now. Murdock was tilting like a carnival ride, trying to evade the barrage, and BA was firing the M60 in one long blast, twisting almost as much as the chopper in his attempts to quell the enemy. Wiley, like Peck and Hannibal, just hung on and tried not to get in BA's way.  
  
It couldn't have lasted more than ten minutes, but it seemed like hours before the banging of the guns and the screams of the anti-aircraft shells stopped. Wiley could see bits of daylight poking through the skin of the chopper here and there.  
  
Maybe BA wasn't so wrong about these birds after all.  
  
The rest of the flight across Laos was relatively quiet, with only a few sporadic bursts coming from the jungle below, and they began to relax a bit. Murdock started singing up front until BA pulled an empty cartridge from the bag and threw it at him.  
  
Wiley and BA took to the bushes when they made their next refueling stop. They didn't have much choice. It was one of those places that was there for one reason and one reason only - refueling small aircraft. Wiley looked at the runway - a red dirt line along the edge of the jungle - and decided only gliders or choppers would even try to land here. Just two or three Thai soldiers, standing around gawking. Murdock did his own refueling, refusing to let them anywhere near his bird. Hannibal and Peck stood just off to the side, going over a map.  
  
BA and Wiley exchanged glances when they headed up to the chopper a few minutes later and discovered Peck was strapping himself into the door gunner's position. Wiley looked over at Hannibal, who was practically glaring at Peck, and decided it was best just to keep his mouth shut.  
  
Wiley sighed as he settled for the rest of the trip. Hannibal was changing. The team was changing. And he could practically name the day it all started changing.  
  
The day Peck came back from Saigon.  
  
They landed at Udon late in the afternoon. It was the end of the road for Murdock. He'd stay overnight at the base and then make the run back to Nha Trang in the morning. From here, the team would be taken by an Air America chopper crew and dropped just over the far Laotian border. Wiley wasn't sure whose idea that had been, but he was personally glad. Murdock had been taking too many chances lately, and infiltrations at night were pure hell anyway - hard to maneuver when you couldn't see, hard to see without being seen, and having several men's lives in your hands at the same time...and this time, they'd be dropped, as Hannibal called it, in Uncle Ho's backyard.  
  
They all knew Murdock was not happy about it. Once a chopper crew was assigned to a team, they 'belonged' to that team from the time they left base until they were picked up again, no matter how many days the team was out. Then, and only then, did the chopper crew move on to other duties or teams. With Murdock, Hannibal had requested him so often, he was practically a permanent part of their team.  
  
Not this time.  
  
They headed over to the base mess hall, and although they knew it would be the last decent meal they'd have for some time, none of them had much appetite. Afterwards they all wandered over to the hangar, waiting for the sun to set. Their new pilot was looking over his ride along with the crew chief and, thankfully, a door gunner. BA and Wiley double checked what equipment they were taking; neither one of them liked carrying C-4 that far, but it wasn't like they could stop at the local PX and pick some up. Hannibal and Peck were going over the maps one more time, comparing them with the latest intel Hannibal had gotten at the base headquarters.  
  
Finally it was time to load up and take off. Murdock stepped back, gave them all a sloppy salute and smiled.  
  
"See y'all on the flip side."  
  
Wiley grinned and shook his head. No matter what Murdock was really thinking, he wasn't about to let it affect the others. And Wiley wasn't about to let it, either. Pessimism was not the same as realism. He watched from the open door as Murdock got smaller and smaller and finally disappeared as the canopy swept by below them. In a moment, they were surrounded by darkness.  
  
 **July 1976**  
  
"The day you brought him back, I could see it. How he was...different. You both were. And then we found out why."  
  
Hannibal, standing by the window, looking out but not seeing, turned and frowned. "You knew?" He looked over at BA, at Murdock. "You knew but you didn't say anything?"  
  
"What was there to say, Hannibal?" Murdock stood up again, moved restlessly to the dresser. "We just figured, you'd talk to us at some point." He looked up, and there was a hint of anger in his eyes. "You never did."  
  
Hannibal looked back to BA, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  
  
"Guys were...hinky around him. Then I saw one of them guys from that day at the hospital, and I..." BA almost blushed, "I was gonna warn him off, y'know? Make sure he wasn't gonna push that thing about Cook. But he's the one tol me. Only, nobody knew, see, who'd really done it. And they didn't know if maybe Face had some more of those kinds of friends up in Nha Trang."  
  
"And neither did you guys." Hannibal shook his head and returned to his chair by the bed. "Damn."  
  
"He went around, acting like nothing had happened. And you...you started taking more and more chances with your plans. Like you were daring him to challenge you. Only he didn't."  
  
"He and I had plenty of disagreements..."  
  
"To a point, Hannibal. But you could never push him far enough, could you? I didn't understand that until Bragg, when I had time to think about it. You were pushing him, trying to get him to really care about the mission, the team, anything. Care enough to put his foot down. But instead of challenging your decision, he challenged you. He'd show you that no matter how stupid the idea, he could make it work. And you fell for it."  
  
Hannibal looked at Wiley, then slowly over to the others. The look on their faces told him all he needed to know.  
  
"That's why it happened, Hannibal. It wasn't because I hated him. But I had to stop you. And the only way I could was to get him away from you. I didn't know..."


	18. Chapter 18

**January 26 1971 - 11:00 PM**  
  
Wiley looked cautiously around the corner, then leaned back, resting against the hard brick of the building. So far, so good. The streets were deathly quiet, the inhabitants still involved with their pre-Tet prayers and preparations. He reminded himself to apologize to Hannibal when this was over. If he hadn't pushed like hell the last five days, they would've been walking the streets of Hanoi in broad daylight, with thousands of North Vietnamese surrounding them.  
  
And if he didn't stop woolgathering, they might still be.  
  
He pushed cautiously away from the wall and moved down the alley where the rest of the guys were waiting. He knelt down by Hannibal, knowing Peck and BA were close enough to hear.  
  
"All clear so far, Hannibal. We gotta cross the street to get to the next alley, so that might be a little chancy, but everything's dark. The bank should be on the next street."  
  
"Okay, guys, one at a time. BA, you go first, get that burglar alarm taken care of. Wiley, you follow. I'll be right behind you. Face?"  
  
"I saw a small truck just up the street, off to the side. Soon as the celebration starts, I'll hot-wire it and pull around back."  
  
Hannibal nodded. "Remember - anything goes wrong, we split up and head for the rendezvous. Don't worry about breaking into a shop to hide - they'll all be closed for the next three days anyway. Whoever makes it to the rendezvous stays there until 0100 Monday unless it's compromised. If you can't make it before that..."  
  
The men nodded. This was where they deviated from normal. Nobody got left behind on recons. But this mission was too important; it would, if successful, affect thousands of lives, not just the four here.  
  
No individual was more important than that.  
  
They moved closer to the street, the others staying back in the shadows as BA made his way across the narrow street. He slouched some, just in case, but otherwise he walked as normally as possible. Just someone crossing the street. That's all.  
  
Wiley waited to a slow count of ten after BA had once again disappeared into the shadows, then moved out. He headed up the street, passing by a couple closed shops, before angling across. He stopped in front of a small cafe, pretending to read the sign in the window, and then made his way to the alley that passed by the back of the bank. BA was already there, working on the alarm, but Wiley waited behind some boxes for Hannibal.  
  
Hannibal looked at Face before he started out. Both men wore the traditional cone-shaped hat to shield their light hair. They stepped out onto the street together, nodded as if saying goodbye, then went their separate ways, Hannibal soon joining Wiley in the alley, Face making his way toward the truck he'd spotted earlier.  
  
Wiley and Hannibal joined BA at the back door. BA gave them a thumbs up when he finished disabling the alarm. Wiley hoped BA knew for sure it was off; sometimes he was a little too confident. But now it was Wiley's turn. He took a deep breath and then started working the picks into the door lock. He never thought he'd be doing this again; the last time he had, he'd ended up with a choice - jail, or the Army. It had ended up being the best thing that had ever happened to him, even though he hadn't thought so at the time.  
  
The lock was stubborn, and Wiley stepped back, wiping the sweat off his face with his sleeve. He had a fleeting wish that Peck was the one doing this; Wiley had taught him how to pick a lock on a dare, and he'd been surprised how quickly the lieutenant had caught on. Not that he'd ever tell him that.  
  
Hannibal nudged his arm, questioning, and he nodded before starting back on the lock. He had to do it as quietly as possible; they knew there were at least two guards inside. Hannibal had suggested just knocking and grabbing the guards then, but even BA had vetoed that. Hannibal had scowled but finally agreed. No telling whom they might call first.  
  
Finally, Wiley heard a very small but satisfying click. He grinned up at Hannibal, and then stepped back, pulling his pistol. Hannibal and BA already had theirs out, and Hannibal slowly brought up one, two, three fingers. They burst into the door...  
  
*****  
  
Face walked past the truck and casually slipped into the recessed doorway of a nearby shop. From here, he could easily see the truck, as well as most of the street. He didn't particularly like the looks of the vehicle; it seemed to be a conglomeration of various makes and models, with more than a fair share of it odd bits of shrapnel. But there was a grocer's sign on the door, so he figured it had to be semi-reliable. And it only had to get them to the outskirts of the city. Once there, out of the streets crowded with NVA, they'd be able to dump the truck and make their way cross-country.  
  
He glanced at his watch, a cheap knock-off that any North Vietnamese citizen might have. Ten minutes, give or take, and the Le Tru Tich celebration would start - people setting off fireworks, banging on pots and pans, making as much noise as possible to usher out the old spirits and welcome the new. Hannibal and the others would use that as the cover to blow the safe. Then it was just pack up the money, stroll out to the truck and drive away.  
  
Piece of cake.  
  
So why was he so nervous?  
  
He knew he'd be able to hot-wire the truck. He'd had to do it with the Caddy when he first got it, and he and BA had gone over the process a couple more times on a Jeep at the base before they left. That was not a problem.  
  
He wasn't worried about being out in the population either. It was the middle of the night, after all, and making eye contact on a public street was considered a breach of etiquette anyway. He knew the lingo better than any of them, and if he did have to talk, he'd slur his words a bit so no one would notice his accent.  
  
Piece of cake.  
  
He winced when the first firecracker went off down the street. In a matter of seconds, he could hardly hear himself think, and the street started filling with revelers. He took a deep breath and focused on the truck.  
  
He stepped out into the street.  
  
*****  
  
Wiley was at the back door, held open just enough so he could keep an eye on the alley. He glanced over his shoulder, where he could see Hannibal, standing confidently by the two dead guards. That hadn't necessarily been part of the plan, but they had to make sure the guards didn't have time to raise the alarm. To Wiley's thinking, they were as much the enemy as any Charlie they met in the bush, and he wasn't about to let it bother him.  
  
He saw Hannibal look at the front windows. They were staying far away from those - the last thing they needed was some gook glancing in and seeing them. At the same time, they didn't need to be caught unaware, either.  
  
BA was off to Wiley's side, on the other side of the wall. The vault was there, and BA was placing the C-4 and detonators. Wiley looked at the clock on the wall. Only a few minutes now. He shifted, once again watching the alley.  
  
He heard the first echoes of fireworks, off in the city somewhere. Hard to tell where. He looked at Hannibal, who nodded calmly. Wiley wished he could see BA. They'd let him know before the explosives went off, of course, but he'd like to see for himself that BA was done, that he was just waiting until the celebration was in full swing, that they wouldn't be heard, that...  
  
Stop. Settle down. It would go as planned. One way or the other, it always worked. Always.  
  
The fireworks were getting louder, other noises building as well. He could see people moving along the street.  
  
Where was Peck?  
  
Another look at Hannibal, who shook his head. They wouldn't set off the C-4 until Peck was in place. Wiley looked back to the alley.  
  
Saw the truck then. A piece of junk but it was running. That was all that counted. All that mattered. Peck pulled the truck up within a few yards of the door, left it running as he stepped out and leaned casually against the hood. He didn't look at the bank door.  
  
Wiley smiled softly, and turned to Hannibal, nodding. He closed the door and the three men moved to the far side of the bank's lobby, crouching behind a heavy desk. BA lit the fuse, and they waited.  
  
*****  
  
 **12:15 AM**  
  
Face heard the explosion from inside the bank, but he knew it was only because he was in the alley. Anyone on the streets, where the noise level was almost deafening, would have thought it more fireworks, if they heard it at all. He smiled.  
  
Moments later, he had very little to smile about.  
  
Two NVA came wandering down the alley, laughing, smoking. He hoped they would keep moving on to the next street, but no such luck. They nodded at him, still smiling, and, head down, he gave them a quick smile back. To his horror, they leaned against the truck and started an animated discussion, apparently about the problems one was having with his wife. Just from what he could hear, Face knew this was going to be a long conversation.  
  
Shit. He couldn't just stand there, waiting for the guys to come out with the money. They couldn't see the NVA from the bank door. They'd have no idea what was going on.  
  
Unless Face wasn't there.  
  
That was their signal. As long as Face was with the truck, everything was fine. So he just had to move down the alley, toward the front of the bank, and when Wiley checked, he'd know they had to wait.  
  
But for how long?  
  
Didn't matter. Not right now. He just had to make sure the guys did not come out of the bank.  
  
He stood, stretched slightly, and started moving toward the street. One of the soldiers called out, asking if he was leaving his truck running. He turned slightly, mumbling something about a lazy son who could watch his own truck and kept going. The soldiers laughed. And then did the unthinkable.  
  
They climbed inside and settled in, continuing their conversation.  
  
Face kept moving toward the street, hoping he could find another vehicle. And fast.  
  
*****  
  
"Check the door!"  
  
Wiley nodded, dropped the money he was holding in the bag, and scrambled for the back door. There was a lot of debris strewn around the office now, and he tripped a couple times, cussing softly. He eased the door open until he could see the truck.  
  
He frowned, puzzled.  
  
Peck was stepping away from the truck, moving toward the street. He turned back and was talking to someone.  
  
What the...?  
  
And then Wiley saw the two gooks, stepping up to the front of the truck. NVA. Smiling, laughing with Peck. And then they got into the truck.  
  
Waiting.  
  
Wiley closed the door, ever so slowly. All it would take was a glance this way and everything'd be in the shitter. He heard the soft click as the door closed completely, and leaned heavily against it.  
  
Shit.  
  
He hurried over to Hannibal, told him what he'd seen. He didn't tell Hannibal what he was thinking. Not yet.  
  
Hannibal rested his hands on his knees, head down. BA looked from Hannibal to Wiley, then back to Hannibal.  
  
Waiting.  
  
And then Hannibal chuckled. Shook his head and chuckled.  
  
"Hannibal! What the...?"  
  
"Nothing to do, Wiley, so just settle down. They're out there, we're in here, and there's nothing we can do about it. So we just wait. Face will think of something."  
  
"What if he's already done that, Hannibal?" Wiley couldn't help it. He was tired and he was wired.  
  
Hannibal looked at him, a sharp glare that made Wiley flush. "You know better, Wiley. He'll get us out of here." He turned to BA. "Anybody looks in that front window, they're going to see our little mess here, so keep an eye out. If we have to, we'll take our chances with those guys out back."  
  
BA nodded and moved cautiously toward the window, staying to the side. Hannibal looked back at Wiley and smiled.  
  
"It'll work, kid. Don't worry so much."  
  
*****  
  
 **12:45 AM**  
  
Face moved as quickly as possible along the street, trying desperately to keep his head down and the damn hat on, all the time watching. Watching for a truck, a car, anything he could grab without a lot of fanfare. Anything that would hold four guys and several bags full of loot.  
  
He finally decided to give up, go back to the truck and just take those guys out. The longer he was gone, the bigger the chance they would get curious about a running truck sitting outside the back door of a bank. The more chance the guys would get impatient. The more chance somebody would discover what was going down.  
  
He was less than a block away when he saw it. Beautiful. An old Jeep, battle worn - and American. Obviously the spoils of war. Smiling ironically, Face made his way to it, watching to see if any possible owners were keeping an eye on it. He stood beside it for a moment, glancing about. No one paying any attention. He climbed in, waited a moment.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He reached down cautiously, grabbing the wires. Quickly. Quickly.  
  
The wires sparked. Once. Twice. Then the engine coughed violently to life.  
  
Any other plans Face had were yanked out of his hands.  
  
There was a sudden commotion across the street, in front of the bank. People starting yelling, pointing at the bank's windows. He saw several police officers and NVA hurrying toward the crowd.  
  
Cursing Morrison, he gunned the Jeep, hit the horn, and careened through the crowd, panicked pedestrians leaping out of his way. He ducked as the Jeep drove through the wall.  
  
He saw the guys scrambling out of his way, then immediately leaping for the Jeep. He turned it in a half-circle, furniture disintegrating against the grill.  
  
"Go, Face!"  
  
He didn't have to be told twice. He rammed the Jeep back through the opening, ignoring the people in front of him. Then they were on the street, people pelting them with rocks, cans, sticks.  
  
He didn't know or care how many people he actually hit. Didn't care how rough the ride - over sidewalks, crashing through vendor stalls, back on the street, into an alley...  
  
He just drove.  
  
The crowds thinned, the streets widened. He pulled the Jeep into a side street, and the men leaped out, grabbing the bags of money, running through the streets, left, then right, then left again, backtracking and then circling around again.  
  
And then, almost without warning, they were running across a rice paddy.  
  
Into the jungle.


	19. Chapter 19

**January 22 1971**  
  
Murdock hadn't slept much, if at all, the night before. Standing there at the airfield in Udon, watching that other chopper, that other pilot, taking his team away...He'd stayed right there at the hangar until that chopped came back. Dozed on a metal folding chair in the dark, waiting. Hours and hours. Waiting. Even when they'd landed, and assured Murdock the infil had gone without a hitch, he wasn't happy. But there was nothing more to do except bunk down with the other pilots, and wait to leave in the morning.  
  
He'd been playing with his breakfast at the mess when the CO came over, asked him if he'd mind taking some guys to Da Nang. He had no problem with that, but it meant waiting a couple more hours, again with nothing to do except wander around the hangar, looking north.  
  
And thinking.  
  
He didn't like having that much time to think. Usually he was around the other pilots or hanging out with Wiley and BA. Even if it was just sitting in the club, drinking themselves silly, at least it was something to do. Something to keep from thinking too much.  
  
Hannibal was too confident about this whole thing. At least, he acted that way. But Murdock saw the little things. The way he snapped at Face. How quiet he'd been when they left Nha Trang. The way he went over every little detail with Face, over and over until they climbed aboard that bird and took off.  
  
Wiley and BA were all right. Okay, a little quieter than usual. BA never let anyone know if something was bugging him. Not right away. Not until he turned around and slammed a fist in somebody's face. Then you knew.  
  
Wiley being quiet was a little odd. Usually he was full of tall tales, stories about growing up in the Appalachians. He and Ray made a good pair, trading stories about hunting and fishing and all that backwoods stuff. Murdock had a few stories like that, himself, but shooting jackrabbits on the Texas plains just couldn't match up with tracking a buck through the mountains.  
  
But Wiley hadn't had any stories to tell this time.  
  
And then there was Face.  
  
Murdock shook his head, looking once more to the north. That little chat they'd had before leaving yesterday. Murdock had been so mad at him, telling Hannibal Murdock was ready for the loony bin. Then Face comes up, starts apologizing, telling him he was just worried about him. Didn't want him being pushed too far. Pushing himself too far.  
  
Face was "concerned" about him. For him.  
  
Murdock felt bad enough then. Thinking Face was bad-mouthing him when he was just looking out for him. Face had been misguided, maybe, but he wasn't being mean.  
  
It wasn't until late last night, long after they'd disappeared into the dark, that Murdock had realized why Face had told him all that.  
  
He wanted Murdock to know, in case he didn't get back.  
  
 **January 24 1971**  
  
Murdock wandered away from Morrison's office, kicking a stone along the dirt path. He knew there wouldn't be any word from the guys yet, but he kept hoping maybe somebody had seen them, heard something. But once again, Morrison had reminded him that no one else knew where they were, what they were doing. Even the Air America guys only knew where to drop them, nothing else.  
  
Need to know.  
  
Need to know. That was a sticky point with Morrison. Hannibal wasn't supposed to tell Murdock what the real mission was. Murdock was only supposed to know they were going to Udon. That was it. But Hannibal had told him everything. Murdock knew why, too.  
  
Hannibal wanted someone he could trust to know what was going down. So someone he could trust would tell their story if they didn't come back.  
  
So someone would tell the truth.  
  
Not that Hannibal didn't trust Morrison. Murdock was pretty sure he did. But they were talking the Army here, and the politicos back in the World.  
  
Somebody had to know.  
  
But Murdock didn't know what was going on now. And he didn't like it. Didn't like it at all. He couldn't sleep, not knowing. Not getting any answers. Knowing there weren't any answers. Knowing there wouldn't be until the guys called for their extraction in Laos. He didn't like it. He didn't like going out with other teams, when his was still out there, somewhere. It wasn't right. It just wasn't right.  
  
And Morrison was acting strange. He was. He and that Captain Curtis. Now that was one son of a bitch he didn't trust as far as his nose. For one thing, he spent way too much time schmoozing with Colonel Wrenn. And even Face had told Murdock to stay away from that guy.  
  
Definitely bad blood between those two.  
  
Murdock shook his head, looked around. It was hot now. It was always hot, but today was really hot. Two more days and things would get even hotter.  
  
Two more days, it would be Tet.  
  
Damn. He wished he was with them.  
  
Wished he knew where they were.  
  
 **January 26 1971**  
  
Murdock had gotten as far as the gates to the SF compound three times so far. Each time, he turned and walked away. Each time, beating himself up inside for being a coward, then arguing with himself that he had no proof.  
  
But Morrison had to be told.  
  
Murdock tossed the cigarette to the ground, and turned around yet again, forced himself to head for the compound, yet again. It didn't matter if he had proof. He didn't need proof. He'd seen it; he had to report it. Curtis was too close to Morrison; suppose Curtis knew about the guys?  
  
He had to know about the guys.  
  
So Murdock had to tell Morrison he'd seen Curtis talking to that guy. A guy Face had told him had connections up north. Face knew a lot of those guys, guys he wanted Murdock to stay far away from. Like Murdock was the dumb kid brother.  
  
He had to tell Morrison.  
  
Even if it was his word against Curtis'. Even if they decided he'd finally flipped his lid but good.  
  
He nodded to the guys at the gate. They knew him, waved him through. Everything normal. Calm. No acting weird. Just going in to talk to a buddy, nothing unusual about that. Nothing unusual at all.  
  
Normal.  
  
The light in Morrison's office was on, but Murdock hesitated. Come on, come on, don't chicken out now. Morrison didn't know Murdock was crazy. Morrison didn't think Murdock was crazy. He'd just say Murdock was mistaken. That's all.  
  
Just mistaken.  
  
But the seed would be planted. That was enough, right? Just plant the seed, and watch it grow. Morrison would do some checking.  
  
Morrison was good like that. Like Hannibal. Never dismissed anything, no matter how unbelievable.  
  
Murdock paced, chewing on his thumbnail. He knew he was hyper. He should've gone to the doc, gotten something to help him sleep. He hadn't slept much the last few days. Not since the guys left. He knew better. But he wanted to be ready, in case he had to go out and get them.  
  
He hated not knowing where they were.  
  
Hated it.  
  
He looked up at the window. The light was still on. He frowned. Squinted. Somebody was walking around in there. Two somebodies.  
  
He jumped, startled, at the sudden explosions. Caught his breath. Tet. Yeah, that's right. Not an attack. Just the damn gooks celebrating the new year.  
  
Dummy.  
  
He turned, looked at the window, took a breath and moved toward the door. He stopped, just under the window, when he heard the voices. Morrison, as expected.  
  
And Curtis.  
  
Murdock moved closer to the window. The voices were low, but not quite low enough.  
  
"He couldn't do anything about it, Colonel. He's been under surveillance and couldn't shake them in time."  
  
"So as far as we know, the bank job is going down as planned - except for that one vital part of it."  
  
"C'mon, Colonel, what are the chances Smith can actually pull it off, anyway? The bank's practically in the middle of Hanoi. No way they..."  
  
"You forget who we're dealing with, Josh. If it were anyone but Smith and that gaggle of misfits, I'd say you were right."  
  
"So what do you want to do? Our guy's gonna have a shit fit when he finds out. And that's a hell of a lot of money for Hanoi to dismiss."  
  
"We can still make this work. They've got a long ways to come yet, even if they make it out of the north. Maybe we can arrange a little accident."  
  
"You know Murdock's gonna go after them, if they do make it across the DMZ. He won't let anyone else fly them."  
  
"Well, Murdock's got to be taken care of anyway, and I'm not without resources in I Corps, Captain. You leave that to me."  
  
Murdock couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stepped back from the window and wiped the sudden sweat off his forehead. Stared at his hand.  
  
Shaking like a leaf.  
  
Dammit. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't. The guys...Curtis...Morrison.  
  
Shit.  
  
The door suddenly opened. Curtis was standing there, talking to Morrison. Murdock stepped further back into the shadows. Curtis didn't notice him as he stalked down the path, shaking his head.  
  
The light in the office stayed on. Murdock heard the chair inside squeak, a file cabinet opening.  
  
There was only one thing to do now.  
  
Murdock waited until he was sure Curtis was long gone, not coming back. Not for a while. Long enough. He pulled out his .45, made sure it was loaded, put it back in the holster, loose. He wasn't that great with a gun, but he could handle it well enough to make sure Morrison did what he was told.  
  
He straightened his shoulders and walked up to the door. A sharp rap, no waiting for an invite, step inside.  
  
Morrison was looking at him now, puzzled, before a frown of irritation took over.  
  
"I haven't heard anything, Captain, if that's what you're looking for."  
  
"It's not what you heard, Colonel. It's what I heard."  
  
"What?" Morrison pushed his chair back, started to get up. Murdock pulled the .45, pointed it at him. Morrison sat down abruptly.  
  
"What's going on, Captain? And you'd better have a good explanation!"  
  
"Oh, I do, Colonel. See, I was coming to talk to you. Only I guess I got here a little too early for you. I heard you and Captain Curtis, y'see. Heard what you had planned for the guys."  
  
Morrison paled, but his eyes never left Murdock's. "I think you must have misunderstood, Murdock. We have nothing planned for Smith and the others. Nothing that wasn't..."  
  
"Shut up, Colonel." Murdock moved closer, holding the gun steady, although it was taking an effort to do so. "I didn't misunderstand a damn thing. You and Curtis were going to make sure the guys got caught. Only it didn't work, did it? Your contact couldn't get through, could he? Left you and Curtis high and dry, wondering how to explain to Uncle Ho how you ended up with his money."  
  
Morrison's eyes narrowed. "You've finally gone off the deep end, haven't you, Murdock? I'd heard rumors..."  
  
"Bull. You may be able to bluff your way for a while. But Curtis? Curtis is a coward. If he thinks he can worm out of a life sentence by spilling the beans, you know damn well he will." He moved closer, and Morrison pushed back further from the desk. Murdock moved quickly to stand behind him. He put the barrel of the gun against the back of Morrison's head. "Now, I wouldn't try anything, Colonel, 'cause I may not be crazy, but I sure as hell am mad.  
  
"Now, real slow, you reach over and pick up that phone, and hand it to me. Real slow, okay? Then you dial the MPs. And if anyone answers besides them, you and I are gonna have a big problem."  
  
Murdock hadn't wanted to stand behind him like this. He wanted to be able to see his face, his eyes, see if he would try anything. But his hand on the pistol was starting to shake so hard, he just knew Morrison would see it. Knew he'd try to take advantage of it. Murdock didn't want that. He wanted Morrison spilling his guts to the MPs, not zipped up in a body bag.  
  
Not that he was sure Morrison, or Curtis, for that matter, would really confess. They had too much at stake. It could end up their word against his. And he knew what would happen then. Then again, when the guys got back and told their story, the Army would have to believe him.  
  
Wouldn't they?  
  
He suddenly realized Morrison had been holding the phone up for him. He grabbed it, pushed the barrel of the pistol a little tighter against the colonel's head. Swallowed.  
  
"Okay, call 'em."  
  
Morrison reached over. The dial spun the first number.  
  
Murdock glanced up. Those fireworks were sure getting loud now.  
  
The second number.  
  
Murdock licked his lips, trying to figure out what he would tell the MPs.  
  
Third number.  
  
Just enough to get them here pronto. He didn't know how long he could really hold this guy.  
  
Fourth.  
  
He heard the unmistakable whine coming. Not fireworks. The far wall burst inward, then the ceiling came crashing down. Morrison leaped up from his chair, Murdock jumped, the pistol firing, something hit him in the head, the gun went off again, and again, he felt heat on his face, across his body, he was choking on smoke and dust...  
  
 **January 27 1971**  
  
He coughed. Tried to spit, but there was too much dust in his mouth. Way too much. He tried to sit up, but there was something across his shoulders. He pushed, harder, forcing his arms to straighten until he felt whatever it was slide down his back and fall away.  
  
He would sure as hell feel that later.  
  
He coughed a couple more times, found enough saliva to spit this time. Shook his head, tried to wipe the dust and grime from his face. His hand came away bloody. And something else was on it.  
  
Gagging, he shook it off, wiping it on his pants, on the floor, anything to just...get it off. He pushed himself to his feet, staggering. Stared at what was left of the office.  
  
Looked for Morrison.  
  
Damn. It was so dark, just a little spray of moonlight here and there, shining down through the rafters. He could see some lights, off in the distance. It dawned on him there were still explosions, off in the distance, men shouting, out in the dark. Lots of noise now. Lots of it.  
  
He tried to step around the debris, kept stumbling, tripping. He found the desk, a couple feet from where it had been. Or maybe he was the one that was where he hadn't been. Or something like that. God, his head hurt. His whole body hurt. He felt his way around the corner of the desk, feeling with his feet as he moved.  
  
And then he found him.  
  
Some things you just know. Like the difference between kicking a piece of wood and kicking a leg. And this was definitely a leg. He knelt down, feeling his way up, shoving boards and plaster bits out of the way as he came to them. He finally found his way to Morrison's neck and felt frantically for a pulse.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He leaned back, using the desk for balance, staring down Morrison's back. He hadn't seen many dead bodies. Not close up. He'd seen a lot of them from the air, and he'd seen the body bags, but close up...  
  
He slumped further against the desk. Morrison dead. He should feel bad, but all he could think about now was the team, out there, walking into a trap. He knew that if they made it back to base - no, when they made it back - they were in deep shit. Murdock knew, as sure as he was born, that there had been no clearance from the brass for this operation. Knew that it was all Morrison and Curtis.  
  
He grimaced. He had to find Curtis. Maybe he didn't have Morrison anymore, but Curtis had the same information. It would have been a lot easier if Morrison had been alive. Curtis would have told the whole story if he'd been able to give up Morrison in exchange for a lighter sentence.  
  
Dammit. Curtis would never give in now. His word against Murdock's. Dammit. Dammit. Murdock reached over, not even thinking, pushing the debris away from Morrison. The moonlight fell more fully on the body, and then Murdock saw it.  
  
Them.  
  
Two holes, staring up at him from the back of Morrison's head.  
  
Murdock fell back, away from the desk, landing on the floor, still looking at those holes. If he hadn't known, immediately, what they were from, he wouldn't have noticed them. Not after the roof got done with the poor bastard. But Murdock knew.  
  
It was only then that he realized the gun was no longer in his hand. He looked quickly around, moved over where he'd been when he came to, shoving debris wildly out of the way. He had to find that gun. He...  
  
He stopped dead. Slid slowly to the floor.  
  
He'd killed Morrison.  
  
He had killed Morrison.


	20. Chapter 20

**January 30 1971**  
  
They sat, quietly, not listening to the sounds around them. Not really. They'd hear what they needed to when they needed to. But not now. Now they didn't want to hear anything. Didn't want to say anything.  
  
Didn't want to think.  
  
Three days. Three days of running through rice paddies and rubber plants. Climbing, into the hills, then the foothills, on into the mountains. And hiding. Always hiding. Listening for what was coming behind. Watching for what might be coming ahead. Knowing, instinctively, when something or someone was moving in on their flank.  
  
It had all been hiding. Running and hiding. Hiding and praying. No killing. Too many to kill, too much chance there would be more just around the curve, over the rise, around that tree. So don't kill any, don't bring any attention, hide.  
  
Just hide. And put distance between them and the pursuers.  
  
Different from before. On the way in. No one was looking for them then. Hunting them. Could at least take time to find something to eat, take time to eat it. Now it was snatch and swallow, whatever fruits or nuts were left. Traveling light then, easy. No sixty pounds of money riding on your back, poking, rubbing and scraping through the canvas rucksack.  
  
But always, always that thought, that goal. Three days, four days tops, and they'd find the PZ and call for the choppers. Five days tops and they'd be home.  
  
Safe.  
  
And they found the PZ. Where the radio was supposed to have been left by the Hmong. The radio they were to use to let Air America know they had made it, that they were ready for pickup.  
  
But there was no radio. They searched, and searched again in ever-widening circles. And finally accepted that there was no radio. There never had been a radio. There was no sign anyone had been in the area for weeks.  
  
They'd looked at Hannibal, questioning, confused, angry. And Hannibal had looked back, calmly, but with a glint in his eye, and told them to make camp.  
  
They would head out in the morning.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock stood off to the side, watching as the others sifted through the debris, boxing up what was salvageable, tossing the rest in an ever-growing pile to be bulldozed away later. He watched, lightly running his thumb over the butt of the pistol.  
  
"Hey, Murdock!"  
  
He jumped like he'd been shot as a hand was clapped on his shoulder.  
  
"Sorry, man, didn't mean to wake you up." The sergeant laughed. "Hey, the doc's looking for you. Wants to check that cut on your noggin." He looked at the men going through the rubble. "Too bad about Morrison. We're gonna be hurting, now, him and Curtis gone..."  
  
Murdock looked up sharply. He knew he hadn't been able to find the captain, but...  
  
"He's dead?"  
  
"Deader than a doornail. Found his body this morning. What was left of it. Hadn't been for the dog tags probably woulda never known."  
  
Murdock felt sick. Dizzy.  
  
"Yeah, him, Morrison. And now Smith and his bunch AWOL, we're out in left field, command-wise."  
  
"AWOL? What? They were..."  
  
"What? On a recon? Nope. They probably told you that just to catch a ride over to Thailand and disappear."  
  
"No, no, they wouldn't take off. They didn't. That's..."  
  
"Well, we wouldn't have figured it either, but Colonel Wrenn, he found some stuff in Smith's quarters. Looks like he figured the war was a lost cause, decided to take his guys over to Burma and then keep going. Funny, him leaving that shit there in his hootch. But I guess when you decide to take a hike, don't matter what you leave behind."  
  
"I still don't believe it."  
  
"Well, you'll have to take that up with Wrenn. He's acting CO now, and he listed them AWOL as of the 21st." The sergeant spit. "Damn, hope they send a replacement soon. Just between you and me and the wall, I don't trust that son of a bitch one iota. Hey, Murdock, you better get over to the doc's, man. You ain't looking too good."  
  
*****  
  
The men crouched around the small pit where they'd placed some C-4, heating some tubers Wiley had found. They looked old, wrinkled, and about a day from rot, but that didn't matter. They'd eat worse on the way home.  
  
BA looked across the pit at Hannibal, and Hannibal knew he'd be trying to answer some hard questions now. The shock had worn off, not the anger.  
  
"You think them Hmong took off with our stuff, Hannibal?"  
  
"Nope. Anybody but them, wouldn't surprise me. Not those guys."  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"Wish I knew, BA." He said it calmly, but he noticed Face watching him closely. He brushed it off. Face was just normally suspicious.  
  
"So, we head south again in the morning? Head for Udon?"  
  
Hannibal hesitated here. He might trust the Hmong, but someone had dropped the ball with that radio. Hell of it was, it was too big a mistake to be a mistake. And he didn't know who might be behind it. Those Air America guys were supposed to deliver it to the tribesmen, but they worked for the Company, and everybody knew it. No telling what those guys knew, what their plans were.  
  
The only other people who knew, besides the big brass who'd okayed it, were Morrison and Curtis. He couldn't believe they'd have done anything to screw it up. Morrison had been too precise in the planning of it.  
  
"Hannibal?"  
  
"We'll head south, but not into Thailand. We'll stay in Laos." He shrugged at the surprised looks. "Last thing the NVA will be expecting."  
  
"Wonder why." Face shook his head. "That's nuts, Hannibal."  
  
"Well, prepare for something even nuttier, Face. We're gonna burn that money."  
  
"What? Why?" Wiley was looking riled now.  
  
"Wiley, c'mon. How far you think it is to Hue from here?"  
  
Wiley scowled. "I dunno, maybe a couple hundred miles."  
  
"It's over three hundred miles, Wiley. That's going to take us, with lots of luck and busting our asses, well over a week. You really want to carry sixty pounds of paper on your back all that distance?"  
  
"That's a lot of money to just destroy, Hannibal. Hell, down south I could get..." Face stopped, shrugged. "Well, it's just...a lot of money."  
  
Hannibal didn't miss the glances at Face, or the way BA and Wiley wouldn't look at Hannibal. He knew what they were thinking. Hell, he was human - he'd thought about the same thing. Face was right - down south he could trade that ten mill for at least half again that on the black market. The four of them could go back to the World rich as kings.  
  
If they only claimed to have destroyed the money.  
  
If they could actually carry it that far.  
  
If the NVA didn't catch up with them.  
  
Hannibal also knew none of them, including Face, would be able to live with themselves knowing how they'd come by that money. It wouldn't matter if it was the enemy's bank or an American one - it would still be stolen money. He just didn't know if they realized it yet.  
  
"Okay. It is a lot of money. Now, we can go through the next week or two the way we have the last three days, with the NVA on our tail, going through these mountains, grabbing what we can to eat on the run. Or we can dump it, and travel fast and light out of here. You can each decide for yourselves what you want to do. But I'm not slowing down for those who decide to keep their share; I won't put the rest in danger. Anybody that falls behind is on their own. So you decide. Is it worth more than your life? Your life, or maybe the life of one or more of the others?"  
  
Hannibal reached down into the pit, grabbing the tubers and tossing them to the rest. "I'll take first watch. You've got until morning to decide."  
  
*****  
  
Colonel Wrenn had taken up temporary office space in the back room of the officer's club. Murdock made his way down the dark paneled hallway, practicing what he was going to say. He couldn't let the guys down on this. They weren't AWOL and he could prove that much. He could tell Wrenn that he'd been given orders to take them to Udon, and that AA had been expecting them.  
  
Morrison and Curtis didn't even have to come into it.  
  
He knocked on the flimsy door and waited. He was almost ready to knock a second time when Wrenn's clerk opened the door just enough to stick his head out.  
  
"Yessir?"  
  
"Uh, Captain Murdock to see Colonel Wrenn."  
  
"Just a moment, sir." The door closed. Murdock was left cooling his heels for a full five minutes before he was finally admitted.  
  
Wrenn was sitting behind the desk, making a show of reading some reports. He again made Murdock wait, before finally nodding to his clerk, who immediately left the office, closing the door tightly behind him. Wrenn looked up at Murdock. Smiled.  
  
Murdock knew then he was on a fool's errand. He knew Wrenn didn't like Face, but he'd hoped that dislike wouldn't extend to Hannibal and the others. That smile told him it already had.  
  
"So, Captain Murdock. I assume you're here about Colonel Smith and his team."  
  
"Yes, sir. I was told you had them listed as AWOL, and I just wanted to clear that up."  
  
Wrenn raised his eyebrows, faking surprise. "Clear what up, Captain? They're supposed to be here, and they aren't. That's AWOL in my book."  
  
"Uh, begging the colonel's pardon, but they're on a mission, sir. I took them to Udon, myself, sir. You can check with AA up there, sir, as it was their show from then on."  
  
Wrenn again smiled, and it was even nastier than before. More sneer than smile.  
  
"I've already done that, Captain. Strangely enough, they do have a record your landing there, with Smith and the others. And they also have you logged out the next morning, heading for Da Nang. But there's nothing about taking Smith anywhere. They just...disappeared."  
  
Murdock knew it was useless, but he wouldn't just give up.  
  
"Sir, there's definitely been a mistake. I watched them get on board an AA bird and get flown out of there. If you let me, I'll go up there and find the guy and..."  
  
"Captain, I understand your wanting to protect the people you are obviously very close to. I really do. But I don't think it would do any good to go to Udon." He straightened up in the chair, resting his elbows on the desk. "In fact, I don't think it would do you any good to be involved further in this matter."  
  
"What do you mean? Sir?"  
  
Wrenn sighed. "It's one thing to fly when under orders, Captain. But, unfortunately, you got your orders directly from Colonel Smith, did you not?"  
  
"My CO knew about it."  
  
"He knew Colonel Smith had asked for you. He had no more idea what Smith had in mind than anyone else did. Anyone else who's still able to tell us, at any rate." Wrenn stood and stepped around the desk, stopping directly in front of Murdock. "I'll advise you again, Captain. Step back. At this point, you're just another pawn in Smith's plan to desert. I would hate to have someone accuse you of aiding and abetting."  
  
"Sir, I..."  
  
"Of course, I suppose one could take into account your mental state at the time. I've heard you've been having some problems. It's possible that the Judge Advocate would consider a Section Eight more appropriate than more...serious charges."  
  
Murdock knew when he was licked. "Yessir, I understand, sir."  
  
Wrenn grinned and clapped Murdock on the shoulder. "I thought you would, Captain. Look at it as a learning experience. Something other people failed to do."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Well, people like, say, Lieutenant Peck. He never learned who his friends should be. A mistake like that can be very...foolish."  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal had fallen asleep as soon as Face relieved him from his watch. Nothing was said between the two of them concerning the money, and that was all right by him. He'd meant what he said. Each one had to make their own decision.  
  
He'd known he was wiped out, but it worried him when he finally awoke the next morning that he hadn't heard any of the activity around the camp. Wiley had apparently taken all the canteens to the nearby stream and filled them. They were stacked neatly by a moss-covered rock, sweating with cold. Face was slicing plantains, laying them on a large leaf, ready for a cold breakfast. Hannibal could see BA on the downhill perimeter, watching.  
  
Then he saw the fire pit from last night. Three times the size it had been, and two small bits of C-4 settled in the middle. Stacked neatly around them were the bundles of money, the empty rucksacks piled beside the pit. Hannibal looked curiously at Wiley, who shrugged, then grinned. Hannibal grinned back.  
  
Face didn't appear quite so happy about the decision, but as they lit the C-4 after their breakfast and laid the rucksacks carefully over the top, Hannibal noticed all four were there. He chuckled a bit, but didn't say anything about his own share having been added to the fire for him.  
  
There were limits to the sacrifices the guys would make on their own.  
  
They left quickly after making sure the fire was going strong. The smoke would be held in check a bit by the rucksacks, filtering out in narrow ribbons, but it wouldn't take long before it was noticed. They wanted to be long gone by then. Hannibal made one quick check of his map. He wasn't worried about planning their complete route yet, just enough to get them moving in the right direction.  
  
They kept hiking all day, stopping for no more than a half-hour here and there to catch their breath. It was during a late afternoon break when Hannibal went back to check on Face, who was rear guard at the time. He was back a bit further than he should've been, crouched down, frowning at the jungle behind them. Hannibal crept up carefully behind him and whistled softly. Face didn't look back, but motioned with his hand for Hannibal to come up.  
  
"Problem, Face?"  
  
"We've got company. A ways back, but moving steady. They're quiet, but...seemed a little too coincidental that the birds were scattering along the trail we just covered."  
  
Hannibal frowned. He'd known they'd probably pick up some company along the way, but he'd hoped they would have made more progress first.  
  
"Size?"  
  
"Small. Doesn't take long for the birds to settle down again. Exactly how small, I can't say. But we've got maybe forty minutes on them."  
  
Forty minutes. Long enough.  
  
"See if you can get some numbers for me, Face, but don't overstay your welcome."  
  
Face nodded, still watching the jungle below. Hannibal turned and hurried back to Wiley and BA. They needed to find a good spot for an ambush.  
  
*****  
  
Dimitri Shastakovich did not like being out in the jungle. He did not like being in Laos. Then again, he did not like being in Southeast Asia. He had been in England, Israel, Saudi Arabia - they all had their negatives, but nothing compared to this. Especially since he, like other Soviet 'advisors', was not even supposed to be here.  
  
It made things difficult.  
  
And things like this, this robbery, made it even worse.  
  
Americans. They messed up everything.  
  
He should have known. Hadn't they themselves used Tet as the optimum time for 'surprises'? Of course, he should have known. Which is exactly why he was out here now, tracking through these mountains, with an elite group of NVA, trying to catch up with the thieves. If he did not come back with them, he had no doubt he would be facing an assignment that would make this one look like paradise.  
  
It had been harder to track them than he had assumed. He'd known, of course, where they were headed, where they expected to be picked up. They hadn't taken the expected route, instead had gone a more circuitous path, and they were very adept at hiding from patrols. Well, he'd known they were an experienced team. He'd actually felt bad when he learned who they actually were. It was a shame to waste such good men.  
  
But then, good men were wasted in every war.  
  
He was disappointed, but not surprised, when they came on the campsite. He had hoped to recover the money along with the men. But had he been in the same position, he would've done the same thing. The money was not worth spending the rest of one's life, however short it might be, in one of Ho Chi Minh's prisons. And for this offense, one's life would be short, indeed.  
  
They went through the ashes, found maybe a couple hundred in bills that could be salvaged. He was surprised at even that. He ordered his men back on the trail. They were impatient now, and he didn't blame them. The Americans had a good start on them, and his own people would have to hurry.  
  
But not too much. He remembered who they were after.  
  
*****  
  
Wiley, for one, was glad they'd brought at least twice as much C-4 as they thought they'd need for the bank. It was going to make for one big bang. Well, actually, several small ones. But just as deadly.  
  
They'd moved further ahead after Hannibal came back from checking with Peck, looking for a good ambush position. Nothing too obvious, but nothing that would let any of their pursuers get away, either. The first volley from the C-4 had to take out most of the group; the team didn't have enough ammo to engage in a long battle. Wiley was just glad they'd stashed their rifles and what ammo they had in a very easy to reach place outside Hanoi. If they hadn't...  
  
BA was at the mouth of the ambush area, waiting for Peck. Wouldn't do to have him set off the explosions. Hannibal figured they'd have about ten minutes after he got back to get set. Wiley just hoped Peck realized he couldn't cut it much closer than that. Hoped he wouldn't have to cut it much closer.  
  
Peck had told Hannibal they had maybe forty minutes. Twenty-five minutes later, he and BA came around to their positions for the ambush. BA readied the detonator. Wiley took one last look around. They were all behind heavy boulders. When the blasts started in those rocks, there was going to be a hell of a lot of shrapnel flying around.  
  
So now they waited. And waited. They hadn't made their trail any more obvious than it already was. That would've been a big tip-off. So they just had to wait and see how long it took these guys to follow it.  
  
They were late. It took almost another twenty minutes for their point man to show up. Hannibal, at the far end, would take him out after he'd passed the ambush. Wiley glanced over where BA was, never moving his head. Didn't matter how concealed they thought they were; nobody moved before the ambush was set off. There'd been too many body bags because somebody forgot.  
  
Then the main group started moving in. Wiley couldn't tell if they were looking for trouble yet or not. The team had laid a trail some ways ahead, so the point man would think they were still moving. Hopefully, it was working. It seemed to be. The squad below them was cautious, but not paranoid. Then Wiley saw something that damn near made him blow the whole thing.  
  
A tall white guy.  
  
*****  
  
Dimitri would blame himself afterwards. He allowed his men's impatience to influence him, let them move ahead faster than he should have. His XO thought the Americans would expect them to move at night, and would therefore plan a nighttime ambush. That was the usual way. Because the squad continued to follow in the daylight, they thought they had the element of surprise.  
  
As he lay on the ground, watching calmly as the American bound up the wound on his leg, he realized he had been too confident of his men. He'd been told they were an elite group. Like a fool, he'd believed it. They were seasoned, but you didn't send elite troops after bank robbers, regardless of the political payback. It just didn't work that way.  
  
He should've known better.  
  
His only consolation was that the man behind him had escaped.


	21. Chapter 21

**February 3 1971**  
  
They'd been steadily moving southwest for the last four days, moving higher into the mountains. Not the easiest route, by any means, but Hannibal had a plan. He wanted to move over the mountains while the men were still fresh, eventually coming down onto the plains on the western side. They would skirt the Thailand border until they got close enough to the DMZ and Quang Tri.  
  
He wasn't sure what would happen when they actually got to Quang Tri. He still couldn't come up with a reasonable explanation for the radio. Something must have happened to change the plan, something Morrison couldn't have predicted, hadn't known was coming. Whatever it was, it was obvious to Hannibal that the team had become not only expendable, but also a liability. But there was no point thinking about that now. Whatever the military had planned, whatever cover-up they wanted to initiate about the robbery, he would go along with. As long as he and his men were in US hands, that was all that mattered.  
  
He looked back at the guys, coming up the last leg to the plateau. He shook his head, frowning. That Russian guy was doing all he could to slow them down. He kept complaining about the cut on his leg, but everyone knew it wasn't that bad. The guy had been lucky - the gook in front of him had taken the blast for him. Wasn't much left of that guy, and this Dimitri had gotten off with just a few scratches. Big scratches, but...  
  
He frowned as he watched Face reach back and give the guy a hand up. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but Face was spending a lot of time around him. Probably it was just finding another round-eye, and someone very different than he was used to. Yeah, that was all it was.  
  
Just curiosity.  
  
*****  
  
Wiley was sorting through the small cans they'd found among the NVA packs. Remnants of C-rations. Talk about ironic. He wondered briefly if they'd been stolen off dead Americans, then dismissed that kind of thinking. It was food, it was familiar, it was better than those damn bananas constantly. They had enough to last another day, maybe two if they ate light. They'd passed by a couple villages, and BA had suggested doing some trading, but Hannibal wouldn't let them go in. They were probably friendly, as most of the Laotian hill tribes were, but then they had that Russkie and who knows what he might have done. Not to mention if the villagers hadn't seen them, they couldn't be 'persuaded' to tell anyone where they'd gone.  
  
BA was guarding Dimitri, ignoring all attempts at conversation from him. Man, that guy could talk almost as much as Peck, once he got started. And, of course, it was all propaganda shit. Wiley was pretty sure Hannibal didn't like it much, but no one was paying attention to it. Not really.  
  
Peck liked debating with him. That's what a college education got you, arguing politics and religion with the enemy. Hannibal didn't like that much either, Wiley could tell, but he didn't put a stop to it. He should have. But the only time he said anything was if they started getting loud. So they kept their voices down, but Wiley wasn't sure he liked that any better.  
  
"You about done, Wiley?" Hannibal stepped over. "Never thought I'd be hungry for cold C-rations, but..."  
  
"Yeah, know what you mean." He stood, holding a can of spaghetti in his hands. "I'll run this down to the lieutenant. 'Bout time to switch watch, anyway." Hannibal nodded, tossing a can to BA. Dimitri would eat after everyone else was through, so there would be no distractions. Wiley was glad Hannibal knew better than to trust that guy with anything.  
  
Wiley moved quietly down the hill, giving the signal as he closed in on Peck's position. Face grinned up at him, taking the can eagerly.  
  
"Thanks, Wiley. Have a seat." Peck pulled a small opener out of his pocket and started working on the can. Wiley sat down on a rock off to the side. "You on watch next?"  
  
"Yeah, when you're done there." He leaned his rifle against the rock, pulled his ammo pouch and checked it. "You got some extra ammo, Lieutenant? Just in case?"  
  
Peck nodded and tossed his own pouch over to Wiley. He opened one pocket and stared. Peck started laughing softly.  
  
"Yeah, couldn't resist, Wiley. I mean, I couldn't pass up a deal like that, right?"  
  
Wiley glared over at him. "Hannibal said..."  
  
"Hannibal said it was up to each of us. I only kept what I thought would pay for a damn good party when we get back. Why not? A welcome home party, courtesy of Uncle Ho?" He smiled, but Wiley noticed the touch of anger in his voice. He thought suddenly of Saigon and smiled back, opened another pocket. More money.  
  
"Bit more than you'd use for a party, ain't there? What's that, service charge?"  
  
Peck laughed, relaxing a bit. "Yeah, service charge. I like that." He smiled and finished eating. Wiley took out what ammo he wanted out of the third pocket, and tossed the pouch back to Peck. He watched as Peck stood, carefully fitting the straps over his shoulders and adjusting the pouch, grabbing his rifle and the empty can.  
  
"Let's just keep this between us, hey, Wiley? Hannibal would just get mad, and this way we can surprise the others when we get back."  
  
"Sure, Face. Our little secret." Wiley smiled, and watched as Peck moved back up the hill. 'We'? Sure.  
  
*****  
  
Wiley thought about that money all during his watch. Not that it surprised him. Figured Peck would be the one to think of a loophole. And no way did he believe Peck was going to use all that money for a party. No way.  
  
He knew pretty much what Hannibal would do when he found out. He'd either make Peck dump it or split it between them. More than likely he'd make him dump it. For some reason, he didn't think Hannibal wanted any of that money around when they got back to base. Wiley wasn't the sharpest knife in the rack, but he knew something had gone wrong with this job. Very wrong. And Peck keeping that money could only make it worse.  
  
Peck must have realized the same thing. He wasn't dumb. So how had he planned on getting the money to the base? Stash it someplace and go back for it?  
  
Wiley shook his head. Damn Peck. Always had to complicate things. Even when they were already complicated.  
  
When BA came to replace him, Wiley held back for a minute. He wanted to talk to Hannibal, but then again, the colonel had a tendency to get real defensive about Peck.  
  
"Hey, BA, let me ask you something. Just...hypothetical."  
  
BA scowled. Wiley was his buddy, but he liked to do that 'hypothetical' shit when he should just come right out and say something. But he also knew Wiley didn't go that route unless something was really bothering him. Deep down bothering.  
  
"Go ahead, man. Just don't get all highbrow on me, okay? Had enough a that list'nin to Face and that Dimitri guy."  
  
"Okay, okay. It's about that money."  
  
"From the bank? Whatcha worryin about that for?"  
  
"Just hear me out, okay? Now, suppose, just suppose, that not all that money got burned. And that Hannibal didn't know about it. What do you think he'd do?"  
  
"With the money? Or the one that kept it?"  
  
"Well, both."  
  
BA sighed. "How much did Face keep back?"  
  
"I don't know. Three, four bundles at least."  
  
"How'd you find out?"  
  
"Had it in his ammo pouch. He didn't seem uptight when I found it, though. Said he was gonna throw a big party for everybody when we got back. But..."  
  
"You wanna know if you should tell Hannibal, or what he might do when you tell him?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"You gotta tell him. There's somethin goin on with this whole thing that ain't right, and he can't do nothin if he don't know what's happenin in the team."  
  
Wiley sighed. "Yeah, I figured that. But..."  
  
"What he does after that, nothin you can do about it. I figger he'll make Face get rid of it. But that's all for now. He'll wait for anythin else till we get back to the base." BA chuckled. "I bet Face'll think twice about skirtin round Hannibal again."  
  
"Never stopped him before."  
  
BA looked up at him for a moment, then looked out into the jungle. "Nope. Never did. Prob'ly never will. Not till he finally steps over the line."  
  
"Think he ever will? Cross over Hannibal's line?"  
  
BA shook his head. "Dunno, Wiley. Dunno."  
  
*****  
  
The pace slowed down considerably mid-morning. They stayed closer together and had moved back to hand signals. They'd seen more and more signs of enemy activity in the area. Hannibal doubted they were looking for the team in particular; by necessity the team was moving into an area known to have a lot of NVA.  
  
Dimitri was walking just ahead of Face, behind BA. He was slowing them down again, but more because it was harder for him to breath with the gag in his mouth. Hannibal hadn't liked doing that, but when it came to his prisoner's comfort versus the safety of his men, there was no contest. Dimitri had seemed to take the decision calmly; undoubtedly he would have done the same thing.  
  
Wiley was on point, such as it was, with Hannibal close behind, when he saw something ahead. He immediately signaled the others, and the group came to a sudden stop, dropping down, nervously gripping their rifles. They sat, silent, as the voices of the enemy filtered through the trees, slowly coming closer. Dimitri's foot slid, and a small cascade of pebbles rolled down into the brush. Face poked him, hard, with his rifle.  
  
The enemy soldiers passed by, only a few yards away. No one moved until the last voice faded into the jungle, and then they were up, crouched, scurrying through the underbrush, eyes as often on the ground beneath their feet as on the man ahead.  
  
No one looked back.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal kept them moving as much as possible. They were running into way too many patrols for anyone's comfort, and Dimitri's attempts to attract attention were only adding to their tension. After the third patrol went by, Wiley saw Peck lean over and whisper something in Dimitri's ear, then sit back, smiling. Whatever he said, Dimitri was a statue during the next encounter.  
  
Wiley also saw how Peck's hand would feel the ammo pouch after each patrol went by, and it occurred to him that Peck would be in a world of trouble if the gooks found that money on him. He wouldn't be the only one. Was he that greedy, that he'd take that chance? Or that confident that Hannibal could keep them from being caught? Wiley looked over at Dimitri.  
  
Or did he have something else in mind?  
  
Wiley didn't like the idea of being the snitch, but BA was right. Hannibal had to know. For the good of the team.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal was tired. It wasn't just another long day of hiding and running, when every fiber in his body was screaming at him to fight. It wasn't the constantly having to watch over the prisoner. It wasn't even the steep slopes and the high altitude.  
  
He'd listened calmly as Wiley told him about Face and the money. Maybe too calmly, from the look on Wiley's face. He knew he would have to sit the two of them down when they got back, get this mess between them straightened out. He couldn't blame either one of them; they were from two different worlds. All he wanted was for them to come to an understanding.  
  
In the meantime, he would have to talk to Face. He wasn't angry, really. He'd given them all a choice, and, quite frankly, he wanted to smile at the way Face found a way around the dilemma. Again. But he didn't dare, not with Wiley sitting there in front of him, worried and angry. He was right, of course. Face was taking an awful chance, not only for himself but for the entire team. At the same time, it wasn't his habit to take any of the guys down in front of the rest. So he nodded and told Wiley he'd take care of it. And Wiley went away, unsatisfied.  
  
He'd get over it.  
  
Hannibal waited until it was his turn to take over point for Face. BA, Wiley, and Dimitri were several yards back, taking a much-needed rest.  
  
Face started to head back when Hannibal nodded to his side, and Face immediately crouched, waiting, undoubtedly for further instructions. Hannibal didn't waste any breath.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me you kept some of the money, Face?"  
  
"Wiley's got a big mouth."  
  
"Don't blame him. BA told him to tell me."  
  
Face had the grace to blush, but didn't back down. "You gave us a choice."  
  
"Face..." Hannibal stopped, suddenly remembering the party Wiley had told him about. Suddenly realizing that something was off about that. He wouldn't take a chance like this for a party. "What's it for, Face?"  
  
Face looked down, saying nothing, picking up a stick and tracing in the ground. Hannibal waited him out, and finally Face tossed the stick aside.  
  
"He had a little girl."  
  
Hannibal sighed. He'd thought that was history. Face hadn't mentioned Cook since taking off for Saigon. He should've known that didn't mean a damn thing. Not with Face.  
  
"I can't let you keep it, Face. If we got caught with it..."  
  
"I figured if we got caught, it'd make a good bribe." He looked at Hannibal, smiling sheepishly. "Maybe not, huh?"  
  
Hannibal shook his head, smiling softly. "No, I think they'd probably just take it anyway, Face. Bury it, okay?"  
  
Face nodded once, and immediately stood and moved back toward the others.  
  
Hannibal turned his attention to the jungle around him, wondering if he'd ever get a handle on that guy.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal stood still, staring down at the valley below. It felt good. Very good. He looked back at his men, trudging up the last few yards. Felt a wave of grim satisfaction. It had been hard, coming over the mountains, but looking at them, he knew he'd been right. A few days of walking on level ground again were just what they needed. Before that last leg back into mountains, knowing that Quang Tri, and what passed for US soil, would be waiting for them.  
  
One by one they came up beside him, and one by one they started grinning. This was what they'd been waiting for. All except one. Dimitri looked decidedly unhappy.  
  
"Beautiful view, eh, Dimitri? You can see for miles. Right into Thailand." Hannibal laughed out loud at the grim look from his prisoner. No one had told him they weren't going to Thailand. That he had less time than he thought to make his escape. Hannibal thought it fitting revenge for all the trouble he'd been so far.  
  
Later, and for many years after, he would regret that.  
  
"Okay, guys. We still got a ways to go. Let's move out."  
  
*****  
  
It happened so fast, Wiley didn't have a chance to react. They'd just evaded another patrol and were hurrying to get down a particularly open area. One minute he was reaching up to help Dimitri down a slope, the next minute he was flat on his ass and Dimitri was racing off into the trees. He saw BA immediately turn to watch their rear as Peck raced by Wiley after Dimitri. He clambered up, taking a quick glance at Hannibal, who jerked his arm the direction Face had gone. Wiley got a tighter grip on his rifle, scrambling to catch up with Peck.  
  
A mountainous jungle in Laos is not exactly the place for a sprint. Wiley found himself slowing to a near walk just trying to get through tangled roots, rocks and branches. He could catch glimpses of Peck up ahead, barely. He must be closer to that damn Russian, because he was moving faster than Wiley.  
  
And then he lost sight of him completely.  
  
Wiley came to a sudden standstill, listening. Nothing. Started looking around, trying to find where the two men had gone through. It took several minutes but he found one trail of stomped on roots, leaves. Then a second trail converged. He followed, moving faster now.  
  
He almost walked right over the edge of the cliff.  
  
His foot slid off before he caught himself and got his balance back. Cautiously, he looked over the edge. About fifteen down, Dimitri was laid flat out, Peck kneeling beside him. He swung around, rifle up, when the stones Wiley dislodged fell, then scowled worse than BA.  
  
"He dead?" Wiley didn't care one way or the other; he just wanted to get the hell out of there.  
  
"No, but he broke a leg, maybe both. Better head back, get Hannibal and BA. It'll take all of us to get the son of a bitch out of here."  
  
"Shit, man, we got gooks all over the damn place! We're gonna be lucky if they aren't on their way here as it is, as much noise as that bastard made."  
  
"We can't leave him here, Wiley. We don't know if they're coming, and we sure as hell don't know if they'll find him down here. Now go get Hannibal!"  
  
Wiley hesitated, then turned and started back. He didn't like this, not one damn bit. Those gooks couldn't be more than ten, fifteen minutes gone. They had to have heard all that crashing around through the bush; they had to. Hannibal and BA would be watching for them, but shit...come all the way out here, fix up that bastard, haul him out? And then what? Wasn't like they could call for a chopper. They still had a good week before they'd be anywhere near Quang Tri. And if they tried to carry him out...  
  
But Hannibal would go for it. Wouldn't matter to him that this guy was the enemy. Not once he heard that Peck thought they could bring him out. Hannibal's biggest fault - he was stubborn as a fucking mule. If BA or Wiley suggested something, he'd think about it, but if it wouldn't work, he wouldn't do it. If Peck suggested it...no, that was the thing. Peck never suggested. Peck just decided. And then would look at Hannibal, daring him to say they couldn't. And Hannibal could never back down to that. Just like with that damn money.  
  
And just like he wouldn't back down now. Peck said they had to take Dimitri, and Hannibal, no matter what made more sense, would do it. Just because he wouldn't want to admit he couldn't do something.  
  
Stubborn. And reckless.  
  
Wiley stumbled over a root, nearly fell on his face. He stopped, catching his breath, listening. He got his bearings; not far now to where he'd left the others. Not far and he'd have to tell Hannibal what Peck wanted to do. Put everybody in danger, just because of two men's stubborn games...  
  
He whistled softly and waited for the response before stepping out of the underbrush into the small clearing where Hannibal and BA were waiting. He didn't see them at first, then both stepped cautiously out from behind a boulder.  
  
"Where are they?"  
  
Wiley looked at BA, who was uneasily looking around, before looking at Hannibal. He swallowed.  
  
"Dimitri's dead, Hannibal. Went off a cliff."  
  
Hannibal paled, but immediately recovered. "What about Face?"  
  
Wiley looked down. "He took Peck with him, Hannibal. They're both gone."


	22. Chapter 22

**February 3 1971**  
  
Hannibal wanted Wiley to take him to the bodies. He wanted to see for himself. Not because he didn't believe him, but there was always a chance. Wiley had said himself he couldn't get down to the bodies, so maybe they weren't dead. Maybe it just looked that way.  
  
He couldn't be dead. Not like that.  
  
Wiley and BA both tried to talk him out of it. Wiley said they'd dropped at least forty feet, maybe more. No way they could've survived that. In the end, he had no choice. He was about to order Wiley when they heard the snap of a branch off in the distance. Then more rustling and snaps. Some distance yet, but getting closer.  
  
Fast.  
  
They weren't surprised by it. Dimitri had made enough noise to bring the whole country down on them, and Face and Wiley had only added to it. Hannibal knew it was only the terrain that had given them as much time as they'd had. And now they had to move.  
  
The three of them.  
  
They were finally able to take cover in an area of thick, dense growth, waiting and hoping that the gooks would go by, not notice them. Hannibal felt a chill of dread when he finally realized who their pursuers were.  
  
The Pathet Lao.  
  
Hannibal had wondered how long their luck would hold. How long before they ran into these bastards. It was one thing to have the NVA or the VC grab you; like Chow, most of them would send you north eventually. They would try to convert you, try to break you, but you stood a chance, even though it might be small, of surviving.  
  
The Pathet Lao had no such compunctions. Especially since, officially, there were no Americans in Laos. Downed pilots, 'advisors', civilians - whatever happened to them became the stuff of ghost stories, rumors, and lies. Hannibal had only heard of two men who had escaped from these bastards. Then again, that was "officially".  
  
At the moment, his only concern was making sure he and his guys didn't become one of those rumors. Knowing what they were up against helped, of course. The NVA in Laos were tough and smart; these guys were real guerillas. Different mindset, different methods of operating.  
  
The three men crouched in the brush for almost an hour, watching as the PL searched. Hannibal figured they were far enough into the undergrowth to be safe, but they had their knives out, just in case a stray showed up. Suddenly one of the PL came running up to another toward the front of the group. They conferred for a few moments before the runner took off again, and the second man called to his troops.  
  
Within moments, they had disappeared back up the slope.  
  
Hannibal waited another ten minutes before he had them move out. He looked once, back up the hill where they had come from. BA touched his shoulder, his eyes gentle but sober.  
  
"C'mon, man. You know what they found, same's I do." He smiled gently. "Face bought us some time. Don't waste it."  
  
They turned and resumed their journey to Quang Tri.  
  
*****  
  
After sending Wiley back for Hannibal, Face worked fast, finding branches to splint Dimitri's legs. He wasn't sure about the left one, but decided there was no point in taking any chances. He was sweating, trying to get Dimitri ready while at the same time glancing around him, looking for any sign of unfriendlies. He agreed with Wiley - they would be on the way. But he couldn't leave someone out here, helpless. If they could just get him out of this gully, they could leave him where he'd be found; that would not only increase his chances of survival, but the team's as well. The more time the NVA spent on Dimitri, the farther the guys could get.  
  
He stopped suddenly, listening. Nothing. Yet. He wiped the sweat off his face and continued to tie the splints.  
  
The sooner Hannibal got here, the quicker they would all be safer.  
  
He tied the last splint, looked up, frowning. He hadn't noticed the time until now, but...They should've been back by now.  
  
Where the hell were they?  
  
*****  
  
Wiley was on watch, not that it mattered much now. They were all close enough to touch each other, hidden under the low branches of a tree, brush piled up carefully to hide any telltale signs. BA was on his back, head resting on his arms, staring straight up. Not sleeping. Just staring.  
  
Hannibal was looking through the branches, ostensibly watching their back door. Wiley had just looked at him when he told him that, and then looked quickly away. Hannibal figured Wiley was probably having some pretty dark thoughts himself. He'd been the one that Dimitri got away from; he'd been the one following the two men. Hannibal would have to have a talk with him. No putting off this one. He wouldn't let another man walk around with undeserved guilt on his shoulders. What happened today could've happened to any one of them.  
  
Hannibal reached up, carefully, moving the branches just enough to see the stars far above. He set that picture in his head. A reference.  
  
Who knew how long it would take to come back for the body.  
  
*****  
  
Face heard them coming. Confident bastards. Calling back and forth. He tightened his grip on the rifle, sending a hopeful prayer at the same time. He'd feel guilty about the hypocrisy later. Right now, he just wanted those guys to stop before they got to the cliff.  
  
Long before.  
  
"They'll be here soon, you know."  
  
Face whipped around, glaring at Dimitri. The guy picked a great time to come to.  
  
Dimitri smiled, then winced as he tried to move his legs. He painfully raised his head up enough to look before lowering it quickly down again.  
  
"You did that?" His voice was barely audible, but to Face, he might as well have been shouting.  
  
"Yes. Now quiet." He looked up at the top of the cliff, wondering if those voices were the reason Hannibal hadn't come back. No. There was only one reason he wouldn't have come, and Face refused to believe they were dead. He hadn't heard any shooting. None. Maybe they were coming around from the flank...  
  
"You did me a favor."  
  
Face ignored him, still watching the cliff, glancing now and then to the sides. Hoping...  
  
"I will do one in return."  
  
"What?" Face looked down at him, frowning. What could a guy in his condition possibly do?  
  
"I will give you to the count of five to get away. After that, I will have to identify myself to our visitors." Dimitri chuckled dryly. "As you told me the other day, I would not want them to think I am just another American, yes?"  
  
Face looked up, the voices getting closer. He glanced to the sides, but there was still no sign of the guys. He stood, hesitating.  
  
"One."  
  
One more glance at Dimitri and the cliff, and he was into the jungle. He didn't know how far he'd get, or which direction he was going.  
  
He just prayed Hannibal was out there. Somewhere.  
  
 **February 9 1971 - Six Days**  
  
Hannibal sat on the edge of the trees, watching, listening. For the last six days they had been twisting and turning their way across the plains, dodging up into the hills, sloshing through marshland, all the while trying desperately to evade the combination of NVA and Pathet Lao patrols. Hannibal knew something had to be going on. Something big. Yesterday afternoon they'd heard the distant thundering of bombs, and a lot of it. The closer they moved to the border, and what they had thought was safety, the louder the noise and the more enemy they had to hide from. They were all stretched near the end of their rope; Hannibal was only glad it kept their minds from other things.  
  
Now as he sat watching, saw the helicopters and bombers in the air just ahead, saw the smoke and flashes on the ground, he knew they'd walked into one major operation.  
  
BA crouched down beside him, staring in the same direction.  
  
"Wiley?"  
  
"He's got the rear. Clear so far." BA frowned, the sweat already streaking his face. "Whadda we got, Hannibal?"  
  
"Well, BA, I think we just found the war."  
  
*****  
  
The rifle butt in the square of his back knocked him suddenly to the ground. He scrambled up, half-turning, and got another one from the other side. He lay there, breathing hard, trying not to listen to the laughing around him. Slowly, he stood, waiting. Another hit? Or just a shove to get moving?  
  
A shove. Fine. He stepped forward, head up, eyes straight. Trying to watch where he stepped. Hard enough walking through here; harder still when one of the bastards had taken his boots. Son of a bitch couldn't even wear them, but he took them anyway. Along with the rifle, ammo, canteen. Right down to the damn can opener and his dog tags. One had made a grab for his crucifix. Big mistake. For both of them. Son of a bitch had just tossed it in the river. After he could stand up again.  
  
It took Face a little longer to get up.  
  
*****  
  
"Damn, Hannibal!" BA peeked up from the hollow they'd just dived into. "We gonna get killed by our own bombs, man!"  
  
Hannibal thought it was a damn good possibility, but he wisely didn't say so. Instead, he crawled up next to BA and looked over the edge. Wiley crept up on the other side of BA. They all had their knives out, just in case. They'd run out of ammo a couple days ago, and smashed their weapons against the rocks to keep them out of enemy hands.  
  
Hannibal could hear a familiar thrum in the air and knew they were all looking for it. Then he saw it - the most beautiful Huey he'd ever seen in his life, dropping down just beyond the tree line. Maybe half a mile, give or take.  
  
That could be the longest half-mile of their lives.  
  
*****  
  
They were moving north. North and west. That's all he knew. That, and he had to keep up. Couldn't trip, couldn't slow down. Don't look around. Don't do anything to piss these guys off.  
  
Hope they didn't get bored.  
  
He no longer felt his feet. Maybe they were getting calloused. He hoped so. He didn't look at them. No point. Nothing he could do about it anyway. He just kept walking.  
  
North.  
  
*****  
  
Corey was bringing the bird down fast, automatically ducking every time he heard a ping against the metal. He shook his head, grimacing, at the so-called Intel that said there weren't that many enemy in the area. No, only twice what they'd figured on. He shouldn't bitch, though. From what he'd heard from the other guys, the LZs further south were really getting hammered.  
  
His door gunner had been shooting like hell for the last few minutes, giving the ARVNs time to jump out, and Corey was surprised when the firing suddenly stopped. He looked to the side, and his jaw damn near fell out of the chopper. He squinted, quite sure he was seeing things.  
  
Three Americans, running like hell out of the jungle, waving and hollering. Skinny buggers, and so covered in muck he wouldn't have known they were US if they weren't a good head taller than the NVA.  
  
"See 'em, Corey? I got 'em covered!" The gunner started firing again, this time just to their side. The running men never slowed one iota; if anything, they started running faster. It seemed like it took hours for them to cover those few last yards to the chopper, and then the gunner was yanking them in, yelling at Corey to take off.  
  
Nobody even tried to talk those first few minutes; the crew was too busy and the team too exhausted. Hannibal finally sat up, looking over at BA and Wiley. The three men smiled at each other, then started laughing.  
  
The gunner, Gus by name, finally quit shooting and sat back, staring at them.  
  
"Who the hell are you guys? And where did you come from?"  
  
"I'm Colonel John Smith, Sergeants Baracus and Parish. We were on a recon, got lost."  
  
"Shit, sir, I'll say. There's not supposed to be any American infantry this side of the border. But," he grinned and shook his head, "welcome home!"  
  
He moved up to the front, letting Corey know who the men were, and quickly moved back to his position. Hannibal frowned when he saw the pilot talking into the radio, wondering what kind of reaction there would be on down in Nha Trang when the word came through. Morrison had probably given them up for dead by now.  
  
Hannibal suddenly looked down at the trees passing underneath.  
  
He would be almost right.  
  
 **February 10 1971 - Seven Days**  
  
He woke that morning, stiff, sore, feeling sick. Without thinking, he started to move, and the sudden bolt of pain through his shoulders reminded him. His arms were pulled back around the tree, not quite tight enough to pull his shoulders out of joint, hands tied too tightly behind it. He wasn't looking forward to the burning in his muscles he knew would hurt like hell when he was finally released.  
  
He heard the guerillas talking among themselves, smelled the cooking. In that, they were no different than Chow's little group. He might get some breakfast; he might not. He hoped he would. It was the only meal he did get. It all depended on their mood, but they were usually fairly mellow in the mornings.  
  
He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He was trying very hard to remember the route they were taking. Futile, he knew, but it gave him something to think about.  
  
Something other than where Hannibal and the others were.  
  
Why they hadn't come back for him...  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal climbed stiffly out of the chopper. They'd had a bumpy ride to Khe Sahn, and surprisingly, within thirty minutes were on another bird on it's way directly to Nha Trang. Wiley and BA were too tired, too happy, to worry about it, but Hannibal knew it wasn't usual. They should've been taken immediately to Quang Tri and checked out, then sent down south. Then again, nothing about this whole damn mission had been usual.  
  
He watched BA and Wiley sleep on the two-plus hour ride. Like everybody else over here, they learned to sleep whenever they had the opportunity. Didn't take much this time. He was glad to see Wiley was finally letting himself relax. Hannibal had had his talk with him, but for some reason, it seemed to have just the opposite effect of what he'd intended. If anything, Wiley seemed more guilt-ridden.  
  
Then again, they'd all been wired, unable to sleep well.  
  
He shifted, looking out at the coast as it slid by underneath them. He was glad to be back, almost home, but there was, of course, that...regret. Hell, sorrow. Face had done more harm to the unit, and yet done more good for it, than any ten men he'd ever had under his command. Goddamn, there was so much potential in that kid...  
  
Had been.  
  
He roused himself as the chopper started down to the tarmac. He'd fallen asleep without even realizing it. He woke BA with a nudge, and he, in turn, woke Wiley. They all stretched as the chopper landed, and climbed out. Hannibal immediately noticed the three Jeeps racing up.  
  
MPs.  
  
He frowned as the guards scrambled out and hurried over to them. Before they had a chance to react, their hands were cuffed behind them, and each one was placed in a Jeep. BA started to fight, cuffs notwithstanding, until Hannibal barked at him. He tried to ask the MPs what the hell was going on, but they ignored him. The small caravan immediately started away, heading, not for headquarters, but for the highway, going south like bats out of hell.  
  
They drove fast and furious all the way to the airfield at Cam Ranh Bay, and directly into a hangar at the end of the field. The MPs got out, surrounding each Jeep, solemn, silent. Hannibal looked at the others, shaking his head. Keep quiet, don't cause any trouble. Someone would be coming who would explain what was going on. He couldn't help but wonder where Morrison was. He should've been there at Nha Trang, waiting.  
  
They'd waited in silence for maybe twenty minutes when three officers came striding into the hangar. Hannibal noticed immediately they wore CID insignia.  
  
That was not good.  
  
They were pulled from the Jeeps and lined up. Hannibal noted proudly that, regardless of their condition, their confusion and anger, BA and Wiley stood straight and proud.  
  
"Colonel John Smith, Sergeant Bosco Baracus, Sergeant Wiley Parish. You are hereby charged with the following..."  
  
Hannibal couldn't believe it. He'd known they would try to cover this up, but...he stared in horror as the CID officer read off the list of charges - absent without leave, robbery, aiding and abetting the enemy...  
  
It took all of three minutes, and then they were being marched out of the hangar and into a transport. Shackled and separated, they sat, numb, as the plane slowly rumbled down the runway.  
  
*****  
  
"Hey, Murdock! Murdock!"  
  
He turned and looked for the voice calling him. There, across the mess, was Julio, one the Commo guys. He looked pretty excited. Murdock stood up, quickly striding toward him. Julio saw him and ran to meet him.  
  
"Hey, man, you'll never guess! They found your guys! They're on the way back to Nha Trang right now!"  
  
Murdock could feel the blood dropping to his feet. "They're alive?"  
  
"Yeah, guess so. I didn't get all the details, but..."  
  
Murdock ignored whatever else he was going to say, and ran out of the mess. The airfield was close, but not close enough. He ran through the gate and headed for the radio shack. They'd know before anyone when the guys would arrive.  
  
"Hey, Beamer, have you heard anything? About Colonel Smith, I mean? When are they getting here?"  
  
Beamer put his coffee down on the table, frowning. Everybody knew Murdock, and everybody knew how he felt about Smith and his team.  
  
"I'm sorry, man. They've been and gone already. You missed 'em by maybe half an hour."  
  
"Gone?" Murdock took a step back. "What...what do you mean, gone? Where?"  
  
"Don't know, Murdock. Craziest thing I ever saw. They touched down and three Jeeps full of MPs came, hauled 'em away. Headed down Cam Ranh way."  
  
"All of them?"  
  
Beamer looked down. "Well, there were, uh, only three of them, Murdock."  
  
"Three? You mean they only took three. What about the fourth guy?"  
  
"That's what I'm saying, Murdock. There were only three. Smith, BA, and Wiley." He looked sadly at the pilot, who'd gone white as a sheet. "I'm sorry, man. Guess they were the only ones made it out of the boonies."  
  
Murdock nodded slowly and stumbled out of the shack. He stared over the airfield. Watched the people scurrying around, doing their jobs. Pilots shuffling between hangars and planes, choppers. Mechanics standing around smoking, laughing.  
  
Everything looked just the same. Like nothing had changed. Nothing at all.  
  
He couldn't think. He wanted to scream. He wanted...Face...here. Not...not gone.  
  
He straightened suddenly. Not now. Had to think. Had to focus.  
  
Hannibal and the others hauled away. He knew what that meant.  
  
And he knew what he had to do. He had to tell someone what had happened. He wasn't sure who, not Wrenn, but someone. Somebody. He had to tell what Morrison and Curtis had planned.  
  
And what he'd done...


	23. Chapter 23

**February 10 1971 - Seven Days**  
  
They were in Okinawa, at the Special Forces base there. They'd been whisked off the plane, into a truck, then to some building where they were finally allowed to shower, get some clean uniforms, and eat. They were examined by doctors, but there were no other questions from anyone. Through it all, they were kept separated. From each other, hell, from everyone except the doctors and the MPs.  
  
Hannibal sat in his room, staring at the four concrete block walls. No windows, one door. Nothing in it but an old cot and an overhead light. The light had been dimmed, but not shut off. He imagined it was some kind of storage room. And he imagined BA and Wiley were similarly accommodated.  
  
He hoped they were behaving themselves. They sure as hell didn't need any more charges brought. Then again, they'd already been charged with a capital crime, so what difference would another brawl make? He couldn't wait to see how they supposedly aided and abetted the enemy. Or was that from not having the money? Did they think they turned it over to some confederate on the other side?  
  
Other than the reading of the charges, back at Nha Trang, no one had said anything to them. Nothing more about what was going to happen, where they were going. He figured they would be sent back to Bragg for trial. What would happen after that...  
  
He didn't know anything else. He didn't know where Morrison was. He could be at Bragg already, waiting for his own courts-martial. He didn't know what had gone wrong. No. No, he knew what had gone wrong.  
  
Every. Fucking. Thing.  
  
He lay down on the cot, arm over his eyes. Didn't think so much as let his mind drift. Drift over the last...shit. Three weeks. Seemed like three years. Twenty-one days since they'd left for this mission.  
  
One week since Face.  
  
He'd done his damnedest not to think about that. Not...emotionally. Hadn't always worked. He had time now. Time to think about all the things he might've said. Things he might've done. All the things he should have and shouldn't have.  
  
Hannibal was not a man to dwell on things he couldn't change. It wasn't...productive. He'd lost a lot of men in battle. A lot of good men. And he hadn't allowed himself to wallow in self-pity over them. He couldn't, not if he was going to lead other men the next day, the next hour.  
  
But he'd never been stuck in a small room with nothing else to do, either.  
  
And what about BA and Wiley? They weren't the types to deal easily with this confinement. They would be thinking, as well. Angry at the way the Army was treating them, beating themselves up for the way they treated Face. The only one who'd even made an effort to befriend him was Murdock.  
  
Murdock.  
  
Damn, he must be going crazy, wondering what had happened to them. Did he even know they made it back? About the charges?  
  
Did he know about Face?  
  
Shit.  
  
Tomorrow he'd demand an attorney. Somebody who could find Murdock, make sure he was okay. At least get hold of Murdock's CO. Make sure somebody was keeping an eye on him.  
  
He looked up at the door, with the single small window, high up, idly wondering what time it was. He needed to sleep. God only knew what would happen tomorrow. He had to be on top of things, ready to deal with them.  
  
He had his two boys here to take care of.  
  
 **February 14 1971 - Twelve Days**  
  
He scratched another mark in the wall. It was hard, because the wall was really stone, and he had only a small pebble, but it made a deep enough scratch so he could see it.  
  
This was Scratch Number Twelve. He put an additional little mark on it. Fourth day here. He sat back, thinking.  
  
Valentine's Day.  
  
He closed his eyes. He would take Dao Quy to a fancy restaurant. Maybe in Cam Ranh Bay. They had some really nice ones there. Most off-limits. Only officially, of course. They'd get a table in a secluded corner. Candlelight. The fanciest food on the menu.  
  
And roses. Had to get roses. Were they even in season now? Wouldn't matter in LA; you could get roses any time. Next year. This year, he'd find something. Maybe a necklace instead. Yeah.  
  
A necklace to go around that beautiful soft neck...  
  
A shadow appeared in the entry. He sighed. He looked up at the ceiling, carefully keeping his hands up over his head, as the guard silently unlocked the stocks around his ankles. It took him a minute to stand and get his balance; too long for the guard.  
  
He figured by the time he was done here, he'd have a permanent dent in his back from those rifle butts.  
  
He stepped carefully along the passageway, finally stepping out into the mist. He looked around as he was prodded down to the small clearing. He sat down, not looking at the other prisoners. He might make it out of this; they wouldn't. They were Hmong, and the less he had to do with them, the easier their deaths would be.  
  
He was handed a dented cup with some kind of liquid in it, and some small pieces of...animal. He swallowed them whole, just to get them down, then slowly drank down the liquid. He carefully put the cup down, arm's length in front of him, and placed his hands flat on the ground. He'd stay that way until he was told to move. He'd learned that real quick.  
  
Today, for some reason, he wasn't taken back inside the caves right away. Instead, he was shoved further down the slope, where a small creek went through the camp from the mountains. He stopped at the edge, daring to turn and look at the guards. Was this it? Already?  
  
One guard stepped forward and pushed. He lost his balance, fell into the creek, hitting the rocks on the shallow bottom. Damn! It was ice cold, so cold it hurt. He floundered to his feet, looking up at the guards who were now laughing, making washing motions.  
  
Bath day.  
  
Apparently, that quick dunking was all they considered necessary for hygiene. Still chuckling, the guards pointed their rifles at him, motioning him back up the slope.  
  
Dripping wet, he was once again locked into the stocks, and left, shivering, in the cold shadows of the cave.  
  
*****  
  
BA looked around the cell, lip curled in disgust. At least it had a window. But he still hadn't seen the others, except at a distance. He was midway down the long hall. He'd seen Wiley in a cell closer to the main hub, and Hannibal had been taken further toward the end. The other cells, as far as he'd seen, were empty.  
  
He'd been told some Army attorney would be coming to see him this afternoon. Just what he needed - another damn officer to stab him in the back. He wanted to talk to Hannibal and Wiley. Find out what Hannibal intended to do. Make sure Wiley was okay. He'd been looking pretty bad, sitting in that cell.  
  
He stepped over to the window. Not much to see. Empty lot with a tall fence around it, barbed wire on top. Beyond that, he could just make out some buildings in the distance. He could hear planes, too.  
  
That made him think about Murdock. This was going to hit him hard. Real hard. Especially when he found out Face was dead. BA felt bad enough about that, and he hadn't even liked the guy that much. He felt guilty about that. Nobody seemed to like him that much, just buddied up to him when they needed something. BA was never sure if Face knew it or not. Or if he cared.  
  
But Murdock liked him. At least, up until the last. BA didn't know what happened, but they'd started steering clear of each other. Murdock had, anyway. But then, Murdock was getting strange toward the end. Talking to himself. A lot.  
  
BA had seen a lot of shit over there, but that...that scared him.  
  
He stepped away from the window. He wondered if anyone had bothered to let his mother know where he was. Maybe that lawyer could see to it. Make himself useful. BA didn't think he'd be of any use otherwise. He knew they'd been railroaded somehow. He wondered what happened to Morrison. He should've been able to clear it all up.  
  
Damn. He needed to talk to Hannibal, see what he knew.  
  
He looked through the bars, up and down the empty hall. Faintly, he could hear voices from down the way, coming from the other blocks.  
  
Okay, then. If he wanted to talk to Hannibal, there was only one way to do it.  
  
"HANNIBAL! HEY, I WANNA TALK TO MY CO, MAN! HANNIBAL!!"  
  
He heard footsteps running down the corridor, but he kept yelling. Heard Wiley join in. He grinned. What the hell would these guys do? Put them in solitary?  
  
 **March 5 1971 - 1 Month, 3 Days**  
  
Murdock sat across from the Fifth's compound gates. The barracks behind them were empty now, the gates locked, the colors returned to Bragg. He smiled, bitterly. A lot of the guys were still here. Different quarters, black baseball caps instead of their berets. Business as usual.  
  
He adjusted his own brand-new baseball cap. One of the SF guys had given it to him, said they all knew Hannibal and the others had gotten screwed. Wanted him to know they all thought of him as "a member of the club".  
  
Big deal.  
  
He'd almost asked the guy if they'd ever told Face that. But there was no point. If Face had come back, they'd've backed him right along with the others. They were like a family that way. Fight like hell between themselves, fight even harder with outsiders.  
  
He looked up at the sky. Morning moving fast toward noon. And he'd better get moving. He had a transport to catch, down to Saigon. He could've mustered out, gone back to the World. But he couldn't. Not now. He was too far gone for that, and he knew it. He could slide by over here; lots of guys acted strange over here and nobody cared as long as they could still do their job. But that was here. Back in Texas...  
  
He didn't want to keep running grunts out to get killed. He didn't want to go home. And he had to make up, somehow, for the awful thing he'd done. That Awful Thing. Murder was bad enough, but he'd fucked Hannibal and BA and Wiley when he fired that gun. Taken away their only chance...  
  
And now the Army was going to kill them.  
  
No one could tell him when the trial was actually going to start. He'd been interviewed; that was hard. He'd told them what he knew, what Hannibal had told him. Fat lot of good that did. He'd tried to tell them what he'd overheard, but they didn't believe him. Said it didn't mean anything since Morrison and Curtis were both dead. Said they understood why he'd want to help, but he could get in real trouble lying to them.  
  
So he told them. Told them exactly what happened that night. That's when his CO intervened. That's when all this talk about going home started. When they quit sending him up so often.  
  
Practically grounded him.  
  
Well, if they didn't want him, he knew who did. He'd flown for them before. They didn't care what the Army said. They needed pilots, now more than ever.  
  
So he was going to Saigon. And talk to a man he knew.  
  
A guy named Cheney.  
  
 **May 6 1971 - 3 Months, 4 Days**  
  
Face looked up, startled.  
  
Footsteps.  
  
Nobody came in here during the day. Not unless they got bored, needed a distraction. He fought the shiver. He really didn't need another beating. Not after yesterday. But maybe it was just boredom today. Yesterday they'd been mad about something. He didn't know what; he still hadn't figured out their lingo. But they'd definitely been mad...  
  
He couldn't believe his eyes when he could make out who was coming in. He closed them tightly, then looked again, just to make sure.  
  
Another American.  
  
He almost forgot, but quickly put his hands up above his head as the guards scowled at him. Be careful. He didn't want his carelessness taken out on this guy. Whoever he was. Looked about the same age.  
  
He felt jealous when he saw the new guy still had his boots. Then ashamed as he was stripped of them.  
  
The new guy's legs were quickly locked into the stocks on the other side of his 'room'. The guards gave him a kick in the shins before they walked out.  
  
Face put his hands down, and the two men looked each other over in the semi-dark. Face found himself fascinated at the sight of another round-eye. It had been so long...and that he was here, with Face. Not only another human being, but another American...  
  
"Been here long?"  
  
He jumped at the sound. Beautiful. Beautiful English words.  
  
"I said, you been here long, buddy?"  
  
He almost didn't answer, wanting to hear the words. But that wouldn't be polite.  
  
"About three months now." His voice came out in a scratchy whisper. Out of practice. Murdock would laugh at that.  
  
The new guy nodded. Then he smiled. A tired smile, but a smile.  
  
"My name's Kyle. Kyle Hanson."


	24. Chapter 24

**June 28 1971 - 4 Months, 26 Days**  
  
Sleep was something they did a lot of now.  
  
When Kyle had first arrived, he thought he'd go hoarse talking. Any time the guards weren't around, Face would ask him a question, and then another question, and then another. He found himself telling his whole life story, from growing up in New York State, to his mother's death, to finally joining the Army...It seemed as though the man couldn't get enough of a human voice. Then Kyle realized it was an American voice that he wanted to hear. No.  
  
Needed to hear.  
  
He was shocked to find out who Face was. Made him feel weird. Not only was he sitting across from a legend - who didn't know about Colonel Smith's team? - he was sitting across from a dead legend. But then Kyle saw the look in his eyes when he was told everyone thought he was dead. That was the last time Face would talk about the war or Smith. The last time he would talk about himself.  
  
The gooks were bringing more and more prisoners into the camp now. No Americans. The Hmong. The guards seemed to get a sadistic pleasure out of torturing them. The more prisoners they brought in, the harder it was for Kyle to ignore the screams. He should've known better. He did know better. Face had warned him not to react. Not to anything. But yesterday, for some reason, he broke down. Yelled at the guards outside to stop.  
  
He could've cut off his tongue. He stared at Face, who had gone pure white. It seemed like only seconds before a handful of guards came in. Walking slow. Smiling.  
  
They both got clubbed before their shackles were released and they were dragged out. Kyle thought they were both dead, but instead they were shoved to the ground, a few feet from the fire. Just opposite was the poor bastard the gooks were working on. One of the guards stood beside him, holding a small piece of burned meat on a stick. Other guards pulled Face and Kyle's heads up, forcing them to watch as the guard grinned and shoved the meat into the man's mouth.  
  
At first, Kyle didn't understand. How was feeding the guy torture? Then they cut out the next piece of meat.  
  
When the man finally died, Face and Kyle were shoved back into the small grotto and shackled in. Face immediately went wherever it was he hid in his mind; Kyle sat for a long time, seeing it over and over again. Finally, he closed his eyes and, silly as it seemed, started counting until he fell asleep.  
  
It started the new phase of their existence.  
  
 **February 14 1972 - 1 Year, 12 Days**  
  
The three men sat quietly, each deep in their own thoughts. Occasionally one would cough, and then all eyes would turn to the front.  
  
Scared eyes.  
  
It was the third day now that no one had come in. No food. No water. No release from their shackles. No relief from the stench. But they would rather be left alone, in the cave, than pulled out there. Not until the guards had calmed down.  
  
Three days before, there had been a huge commotion outside. The guards had come into the cave, dragging with them another American. They had been angry, very angry, and had taken it out not only on the new arrival but on the two already shackled men as well. Finally they left, the new man secured next to Kyle, opposite Face. He reached over, helping Kyle to sit up, then waited anxiously until Face sat up, leaning tiredly against the stone wall.  
  
His name was Mathew Arnhold, but everyone, he said, called him Arnie. He'd been shot down a few days ago and rescued by a band of Hmong. A young man, barely more than a teenager, had volunteered to guide him across the mountains to the Thai border. Apparently, he'd done it many times before.  
  
The kid's luck ran out this time.  
  
They'd been discovered a few miles from the caves, and practically dragged all the way. The PL soldiers had tried to get the teenager to tell them where his camp was, and he refused. Arnie had been beaten, but not nearly as badly as the teenager. He felt bad that Face and Kyle had gotten caught up in the barrage, but he was scared for the boy.  
  
"I never should have let him come. He's just a kid."  
  
"The kids grow up fast here, Arnie. He's a man in the eyes of his tribe. In his own eyes. There's no way he'll give up his people." Kyle looked toward the front of the cave. He could see a good share of the main cave, only a sliver of the outside world. "The best you can hope for is they kill him quick. That one of them gets angry enough to just shoot him and be done with it."  
  
"And if they don't?"  
  
Face frowned. "Forget him, Arnie. And don't say anything to the guards; don't act like you care. It'll just be harder on him."  
  
Arnie glared at him, but further conversation was cut short by movement at the mouth of the cave. All three looked, but only Arnie had a clear view.  
  
"What are they doing?" Face's voice was low, tense.  
  
"Gathering up wood, like for a fire." Arnie looked at him, puzzled. "What...?"  
  
"Just try not to listen." Again, Arnie started to argue, but Face spoke over him. "Trust me, Arnie. You can't change anything, so try to save yourself the nightmares. Focus on something else."  
  
Face closed his eyes, again resting his head against the stone wall. Arnie looked at Kyle, who shook his head, glancing at Face. He leaned closer to Arnie and spoke softly.  
  
"He's not as cold as he sounds. He's just...learned how to cope."  
  
"Cope? Is that what you call it?"  
  
"Yeah. He's caused problems for them, and they don't like that." Arnie frowned, and Kyle quickly went on. "He's not a hothead. Mostly he does it to draw attention away from other people." Kyle looked down.  
  
"You?"  
  
"Yeah, when I first got here. I didn't know what to do, and that makes them mad. So watch for my cues."  
  
"So he protects you?"  
  
"He did, until I learned. And any women they'd bring in. He used to go ballistic when they'd bring women."  
  
"You're talking past tense. So now he just zones out? Doesn't give a shit? How long's he been here, anyway?"  
  
"I got here in the spring, he'd been here a little over three months before that. So maybe if you last that long, you'll understand. He hasn't given up. Like I said, he's just learned how to cope." Kyle sighed. "Then again, I still haven't gotten the knack of it. And he takes the brunt for that, too, so watch yourself. You can't care. You can't care about anything. Understand?"  
  
Tendrils of smoke were starting to drift into the cave now. Arnie sneezed, then coughed. Face opened his eyes, stared at him for a moment, and then closed them again.  
  
"They do this a lot?"  
  
Kyle hesitated. "Once in a while. If the bombing's been heavy, and during the rainy season, they'll bring the fire right inside there. Just try not to cough too loud."  
  
Arnie looked at him.  
  
"Anything that brings their attention back here, we don't want."  
  
Arnie nodded, silently, wide-eyed, and watched the smoke trailing in..  
  
*****  
  
Face looked up at the new guy when he started coughing. Didn't need that. Not now. Which was probably why those assholes out there had built the fire so close. Waiting to see who had trouble, who dared complain. As long as that didn't happen, they'd concentrate on that kid.  
  
And that was one thing Face was not going to think about. He drifted back to his daydreams. Dao Quy, at home in LA. Waiting for him. How many kids did they have now? Two? Yeah. Two. Two boys. Didn't seem fair, really. He'd like a daughter, too. Have to work on that.  
  
He'd been working in real estate, but that was getting boring. He needed something...exciting. Something that made his adrenalin flow. Making up real estate deals made him tired. Couldn't be tired. Had to be wired. Ready. Ready because any minute, those gooks would come bursting through the door...  
  
Then it came.  
  
The first scream.  
  
It died into cries. The kid was pleading with them now.  
  
Might as well save your breath, kid.  
  
The screams started again. Over and over. He wondered idly what they were doing to this one. Shouldn't think about it at all. That just made his mind go into dark places he didn't want it to go. Couldn't afford to. Didn't want to end up like Murdock.  
  
Murdock. What had he done, when Face didn't come back? When the others disappeared? That was a puzzle. Where had the guys gone? Kyle only knew that one day they showed up in Khe Sanh, and then they were gone. Some said they got on a plane for the World.  
  
Could be.  
  
Hero's welcome. Ticker tape.  
  
He'd kept thinking someone would come looking for him. Sometime. Then Kyle had said everyone figured he was dead. They didn't know, because no one had actually talked to Hannibal. But that's what they figured. When he wasn't with them.  
  
So no one had ever come looking for him.  
  
Hannibal should've told them. Somehow.  
  
He opened his eyes then. Something different. The smoke...smelled like cooking. His mouth watered. Pork? He swallowed. No.  
  
Where was he now?  
  
Oh, yeah. Secret mission. Heroes. The three heroes.  
  
They wouldn't get ticker tape. No. Not with a hush-hush job like that. Have to be secret heroes. Maybe they'd given him a secret medal.  
  
Posthumously.  
  
He frowned as the kid started screaming again. Frowned deeper when it suddenly choked off.  
  
Hannibal.  
  
Hannibal had probably gotten his promotion by now. What was it came after a colonel? Brigadier general? Maybe. Strange. Brigadier Smith. Wonder where he'd end up.  
  
No doubts as to where BA would be. His cousin had a garage back in Chicago. Face had made the mistake of asking if BA was really going to be a grease monkey when he got out. Had to do some fast-talking out of that one. Guy didn't know Face at all.  
  
Wiley was probably back on the farm by now. That's all he ever talked about, that farm, and hunting. He wondered if Wiley would feel like hunting again. Or if he'd had enough of it.  
  
There. The kid was screaming again. So they hadn't killed him yet. If he was lucky, maybe his heart would give out. Or maybe they'd mess up and kill him.  
  
Damn. There was that smell again. He opened his eyes, looked through the haze of smoke filtering through. Kyle and Arnie were staring out to the front.  
  
Kyle looked sick. Arnie was pale, mumbling something.  
  
Bastard's going to get us all killed.  
  
Kyle leaned over to Arnie, said something. Arnie shut up.  
  
Face closed his eyes. Tight. So tight he saw sparks.  
  
Dao Quy. Dao Quy and two little boys. No, two little girls. And they were going to have another. Yes.  
  
Three little girls...  
  
*****  
  
That had been three days ago. How long the screams lasted he had no idea. Sometime into the night. He only knew the kid was actually dead when they threw the rest of his body on the fire. Their little grotto filled with a pungent smoke, a sweet, sick smell. They had to cough, to gag, there was no getting around it, but, ironically, it was the very smoke that choked them that kept the guards from coming in.  
  
Eventually, the smoke started clearing, drawn to the back of the cave by some unseen vent, and they tried to stop their coughing, tried to hide what they couldn't stop.  
  
All the time, waiting for their turn.  
  
Morning came. They only knew because the cave was less dark, and gradually they could see each other again. And they waited. Waited to see if the guards would come and unshackle them for their morning ritual, or to begin their own deaths.  
  
They did neither.  
  
Not that day.  
  
Not the next.  
  
Nor this, the third day.  
  
All day long, the three men sat, tried to sleep, tried to stay quiet. Afraid of what would happen if they disturbed the guards.  
  
The Gods.  
  
The light in the cave was getting dim when they finally heard the footsteps. Six guards, silent, stern. Face hissed at Kyle, who quickly nudged Arnie, so he would put his hands up and look at the ceiling, never at the guards. Never look at the guards.  
  
Three days without moving made it difficult to get up and walk, but they did it. Arnie got a clout when he stumbled, and Face held his breath, wondering if that would start it up, but they were just shoved out of their 'room', out through the high domed entrance to the cave.  
  
Past the pyre.  
  
They were herded down the slope, but past the small area where they usually ate. Down toward the small creek. Face and Kyle glanced at each other, quickly, knowing what to expect. They had no way of warning Arnie, and when they entered the water, he hesitated. The guards shoved him in, and he shouted at the sudden cold.  
  
The guards just laughed. Face felt himself relax a little. Then it was concentrate on scooping up and drinking as much of the cold water as he could before they were ordered out. They all did.  
  
They went back toward the cave, stopping by the pyre, spindles of smoke still rising from it. The guards handed them brooms made of huge leaves. To clean up the remains. Knowing full well the brooms couldn't handle everything. Then back to the creek, with buckets this time, and back into the cave, where they threw the water on the floor of their 'room' and swept as much of the mess out as they could. And then they were shackled back in their places, in their wet, cold, smelly places, in their wet, cold, and once again filthy clothes.  
  
The next morning, it was as though nothing had happened.  
  
 **February 16 1972 - 1 Year, 14 Days**  
  
Face had been watching Arnie the last couple of days. Closely. He was a talker. So was Kyle. Face didn't mind that. He'd liked to listen to Kyle talk. He couldn't always make out the words, because they had to watch how loud they got, but he liked to hear the voice.  
  
Arnie changed that. Since he was only a couple feet from Kyle, they could talk softly and still hear each other. It bothered Face somewhat. He laughed at himself when that happened. Like he was jealous of Arnie. And it was his own fault, really. He didn't even try to join in. For some reason, he just didn't feel like it. Maybe because all Arnie seemed to talk about was the war.  
  
And escape. As if there were a chance. As if Face and Kyle hadn't tried to find some weakness, some opportunity. As if they hadn't tried.  
  
Both bore the scars of that.  
  
Arnie was new, fresh. Healthy. So he talked about escape, and Kyle, for some reason, listened. Maybe because he thought, as Face did, that their time was getting short. Why they thought that, Face couldn't say. He just knew it. He didn't say anything like that to Arnie; didn't want him doing something stupid. Face just kept quiet.  
  
But he had been watching them. And he noticed something. Something odd. He didn't realize what it was at first, didn't realize the significance. And then it struck him.  
  
Arnie's hair was moving.  
  
Not the way all theirs did, with the breeze from the front of the cave.  
  
His hair was being blown from the back. And above.  
  
He'd kept watching, not saying anything. It might be just a fluke. It might not. But he waited, to be sure.  
  
Today he was. Today, Arnie kept brushing it back off his forehead.  
  
"Arnie."  
  
They kept talking. Was his voice really that soft now?  
  
"Arnie!"  
  
They stopped, surprised. Kyle glanced to the front.  
  
"What's blowing your hair?"  
  
The looks of surprise turned to puzzlement. Damn. What was so hard to understand?  
  
"Your hair. It's blowing."  
  
"Yeah, okay..."  
  
"Not the side."  
  
More blank looks. Face sighed. No wonder he didn't take part in their talks.  
  
"Blowing your hair to the front. The front!"  
  
Kyle got it. Looked at Arnie's hair, then out front, then slowly put his hand up, as close to Arnie's head as he could reach. He looked at Face, shaking his head.  
  
"I can't feel anything."  
  
Face frowned. "You're not Arnie."  
  
Kyle looked warily at Face. Like he was going off his nut.  
  
"You're not where Arnie is!"  
  
Arnie looked at the two of them, then turned as much as he could, and reached up with his hand, moving it slowly back and forth. Suddenly he stopped, dropped his arm and leaned back, squinting up at the rock above him. Suddenly, he fell back against the wall and looked at each of them, his mouth hanging slack. He licked his lips.  
  
"I can see sky," he whispered.


	25. Chapter 25

**March 4 1972 - 1 Year, 1 Month, 2 Days**  
  
They started planning immediately...  
  
Arnie spent several days straining his neck, watching as what little light came in showed him the contours of the vent. There were blank spaces, sure, but they were willing to take a chance that they would be as open as the rest of it. Just barely wide enough to allow them to pass, one by one, and angled just enough so it wouldn't be a completely vertical climb. It wouldn't be easy, but they would do it. They had no choice. Not now that they'd found it.  
  
They tried to estimate where it came out, to see if the guards would be able to spot them from outside, and how easy it might be for the guards to get to the top of the hill if they did. They finally decided on an area just east of where their grotto was, near the top of the steep hill.  
  
They'd been able to check out the south and west sides pretty easily; their route for breakfast and to the creek went that way. They had clear sailing from both, with enough rocks and trees hiding the area from casual view. But the east side was a problem. None of them had ever been allowed over to that side of the camp. None of them were even sure what was over there, as the camp seemed to be confined to that southwest area.  
  
There was also the very practical matter of getting out of their shackles. They weren't complicated things - wooden stocks fastened together with cheap padlocks. The men talked about smashing the padlocks with rocks but discarded that almost immediately. There weren't any big enough where they could reach, and the noise would definitely bring the guards. It seemed they were stymied before they could even start.  
  
It was Face who came up with the solution. Kyle had watched him at breakfast. For a couple of days, he was casually examining the tin cups, and carefully pressing the sides in with his thumbs. Apparently satisfied, he told Kyle and Arnie that, if they could sneak one of those tin cups in, he thought they could be bent and torn to make shims for the padlocks. It would only take a few minutes to pop them open then.  
  
They discussed the two obstacles to their escape in great detail for almost a week. Finally coming up with a plan, a diversion which, hopefully, would allow them to not only steal the cup they would need but to see what was on that east side.  
  
Arnie wanted to draw straws to see who the sacrificial lamb would be, but Face vetoed that. Arnie was the strongest; he had to be in good shape to get the others up into the vent and climb up after them. And neither he nor Kyle had yet caused the guards any undue problems. If they were to act up now, it would only raise suspicions. That left only one practical choice. The prisoner the guards already knew to be stubborn and unpredictable.  
  
Both Kyle and Arnie argued with him, but deep down, they knew he was right. And, as Face pointed out, they wouldn't kill him. The NVA frowned on that; as long as the prisoners were in reasonably good health, they had negotiating value. The Laotians liked to think they were independent, but they were actually held as tightly under the thumb of the NVA as the VC were.  
  
They wouldn't do anything to Face that they hadn't already done.  
  
 **March 13 1972 - 1 Year, 1 Month, 11 Days**  
  
"Another delay?"  
  
"That's what the lawyer said. Which is okay. Gives us a little more time before meeting up with Saint Peter."  
  
"Hannibal..."  
  
"Hey, facts are facts, Ray. Eventually, they're going to hand down a verdict, and you know as well as I do, we ain't walking out the door." Hannibal leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, the handcuffs attached to his wrists jingling softly. The guard, standing just outside the visiting area, glanced over at him briefly. Hannibal grinned at him and winked. The guard frowned and turned back around. "We were set up, no two ways about that."  
  
"So now what? Not like you to just sit back and take it."  
  
Hannibal grinned. "Don't intend to." He suddenly sat up, leaning on the table with his elbows. "Remember the camp, Ray? Ol' Lin Duc Coo and his magic elixir?"  
  
"Like I'd forget."  
  
"He had a great idea there. Of course, it could've backfired. We could've gotten the dope instead, right?"  
  
Ray tilted his head, frowning. "You think so?"  
  
"Yeah, I think it could've been the prisoners instead of the guards." Hannibal smiled. "Real sick. Sick enough for a hospital stay." He stared hard at Ray. "Know what I mean?"  
  
"Really sick. Yeah. That would've been bad - for the prisoners."  
  
"That would've been really bad. The whole lot of us, sick as dogs. Even though it would've just been for a couple days. Of course, Lin knew what he was doing, what all kinds of herbs and plants could do. Folk medicine."  
  
Ray smiled softly. "Yeah. I know about that. My grandmother used to dose people up, so they wouldn't have to pay to the doctors." He chuckled. "We got a lot of chickens and pies for those folk medicines."  
  
"Yeah, they're the best. Modern doctors don't really know how to deal with them. But they can be dangerous if you don't know what you're doing."  
  
"That can be learned. Hell, I could even teach you the basics." Ray chuckled. "Real easy."  
  
"Would've delayed the escape, of course. But then, the gooks wouldn't be expecting an escape, when we were still recovering. We would've had a distinct advantage."  
  
Ray sobered. Squinting slightly, he nodded. "Yeah. Would've had to think up a different diversion, though. Lin couldn't drug them after you guys got sick. Not and protect himself."  
  
"No, he would've had to think up something else. Something that would let us get away, but not point the finger at himself. Would've been tricky."  
  
"Tricky, but not impossible." Ray smiled. Hannibal recognized that smile. Just like he used to see before they dropped out of the choppers.  
  
"Yeah, too bad we couldn't have escaped sooner than we did."  
  
Ray grinned now, nodding. "The sooner, the better, I always say..."  
  
 **March 17 1972 - 1 Year, 1 Month, 15 Days**  
  
It was the morning of their diversion. Kyle was watching Face closely, but there was not one sign of nervousness or dread. Maybe he just hadn't had time; they had been waiting for a particular guard to be on duty, one that Face said he'd 'dealt with' before. He knew how far he could be pushed, knew what to expect as reprisal.  
  
Face had, in effect, chosen his weapon.  
  
Kyle and Arnie were backing each other up. Whichever one was seated farthest from Face would make the grab for their tin cup; the other would watch the guards and make sure they were distracted. Having seen Face in action when there were women brought into the camp, Kyle doubted the guards would notice anything else.  
  
The minute they saw the guard - they called him 'Harry' because of his thick eyebrows - Face glanced over at Kyle and Arnie. The three men shuffled out of the cave, and Face sat. Kyle ended up a couple feet from him, with Arnie further down the row. Kyle wasn't sure if it was lucky or not that there were several Hmong seated with them. If one of them noticed the cup disappearing and wanted to gain favor, it could all be over.  
  
Face waited until both Kyle and Arnie had finished their meal before he put his plan in motion. Instead of carefully putting his own empty cup down, he threw it at Harry and was immediately up, glaring at the guard, shouting at him in Vietnamese. Apparently, Harry was one of the Laotians who understood it, because he began shouting back, moving quickly toward Face.  
  
Face backed up but didn't back down. He continued to bait Harry, and the other guards watched, some surprised, some shocked, some amused. But they didn't interfere.  
  
Nor did they pay attention to the other prisoners.  
  
Arnie kept his hand on his cup, and as Face backed up, he leaned forward, pushing the cup as flat as he could before sliding it up and into the waistband of his pajamas. They all, out of necessity, had a habit of holding onto the waist as they walked; once the cup was hidden, no one would think it strange to see Arnie holding on.  
  
Face, in the meantime, had moved back almost even with the cave entrance. His tone had turned from anger to taunt now, and Kyle knew he was pushing his luck. Harry was definitely losing his temper, and the other guards were splitting up, some starting to prod the prisoners up, other following along behind Harry, jeering. Kyle and Arnie were shoved roughly into the cave, but Kyle could see Face only had a few more yards to go before he'd be able to check out the east side of the hill. He mentally crossed his fingers, not only that Face would be able to make the distance, but that he'd be able to make it through Harry's rage.  
  
The guards locked them up hurriedly and rushed out to watch the fun. Immediately Arnie pulled out the cup, and they hid it in the hollow they'd dug next to the wall with stones, piling the gravel quickly over it so it would remain hidden.  
  
And then they waited.  
  
 **April 10 1972 - 1 Year, 2 Months, 8 Days**  
  
Hannibal looked tired when Ray came into the visitor's lounge. He wondered how BA and Wiley were doing. Hannibal just shook his head when asked, and Ray didn't push it. He had more important things to discuss.  
  
"Well, I went down home last week, visited my folks. Got to reminiscing, y'know. Talking about my grandmother. Told Mom about Lin and his herbs. Yep, that was a real interesting talk we had."  
  
Hannibal perked up noticeably. "Really? I suppose your grandmother passed down a few things, huh?"  
  
"She sure did. Remember we were talking about making those gooks sick, instead of just putting them to sleep? Well, my mother didn't like the idea too much. A lot of those things can be, well, dangerous, y'know?"  
  
Hannibal looked down at the table for a moment, and when he looked back up, Ray was startled at the look in his eyes. He'd never before seen Hannibal looking so...desperate.  
  
"Life's full of dangerous things, Ray. The lawyer was here yesterday." He smiled, but it was a dull smile. "They've moved up the dates a bit. The brass wants this over and done with. Completely over and done with. Soon."  
  
Ray frowned. "How much time are we talking about?"  
  
Hannibal sighed, heavily. "He figures they'll finish up in another five, maybe six weeks. I figure that means we've got two months, max. Once the verdict is in, I don't think they'll beat around the bush. Got too many other things on their mind right now."  
  
Ray looked out the barred window. Thought for several minutes.  
  
"Okay." He stood abruptly, startling both Hannibal and the guard at the door. "I'll be back next week, just like always. Hope that you and the guys are feeling better. There's some kind of bug going around. Kinda sneaks up on you, hits all of a sudden. So take care of yourselves."  
  
Hannibal stood, looked at Ray for a moment, and smiled with a genuine smile.  
  
"We'll watch it, Ray. Hopefully, it's just a slight bug from the damp."  
  
"Well, we'll see how you are next week, then, Hannibal."  
  
Hannibal left smiling.  
  
Ray didn't.  
  
 **April 15 1972 - 1 Year, 2 Months, 13 Days**  
  
Tonight was the night. Everything had been planned. The tin cup had been worked and worked until they finally had three narrow shims, one for each padlock. A fourth had been made, and tried, just to make sure they would actually work. They had all grinned like hyenas when the padlock popped open with only the slightest of clicks.  
  
They had no worries about being seen, although that assurance had come at a much higher price than any of them had imagined. Face had disappeared for almost three full days; when he was finally returned, his wrists were raw meat, and he walked like an old man. He'd managed to get around to the east side before Harry finally had enough and four guards had taken him down. Besides the requisite beating, he'd been hung in the dry well. He tried to brush it off, saying he was just glad the guards hadn't forgotten he was down there, but there was a look in his eyes that Kyle hadn't seen before.  
  
He also told them they needn't worry about the east side. It was sheer cliff; no guards could come up that way. And no guards would be over there to see them, either. The east side was their bone yard. Every victim of the camp was there, in varying stages of disappearing into the earth.  
  
Kyle was pretty sure that seeing that was one reason for the harsh retribution. He also worried, without saying anything, that it made their escape even more imperative. Tales of such things were not what Hanoi would want plastered on the front page of American newspapers.  
  
The next few weeks they worked on the padlock shims, quietly bending and turning the cup until it split, and then bending and turning again until they had one shim. Using a small stone to scrape away at the edges until they would fit. Arnie exercising his arms as much as possible, keeping them in shape so he could help lift the other two into the vent and then pull himself up.  
  
And they waited, carefully marking off the days. They had chosen to wait until the Laotian New Year, Pi Mai, to make their escape. Face had assured them that the entire camp took part in the three-day celebration, although probably not in the traditional sense. He also warned them to be on their best behavior, and not only because of their plans. It was one of the few times when the commander allowed alcohol. Those not actually on duty tended to get a little 'out of hand'.  
  
The first day of the holiday started quietly enough for the prisoners, but they knew almost immediately that the next three days would not be good ones. As they sat at breakfast, a small band of soldiers came into camp, dragging with them maybe half a dozen young women. Dragging being the operative word. The women were very young, crying quietly. Face glared but said nothing as they were taken across the camp and shoved into a small hut. Kyle noted, with some discomfort, that Harry was watching Face closely.  
  
A few of the guards, the younger ones, were laughing and tossing water at each other. As Face had stated, it was probably more in fun than for the traditional 'cleansing' for the New Year.  
  
One of the guards, 'Stick' for his heavy use of it, watched the playing for a bit, smiling. Then he looked at the prisoners and muttered to the group around him. They all laughed. Stick called the younger guards over, and the next thing Kyle knew, the three of them were being herded toward the creek. He grimaced at Face, who just shook his head, resigned.  
  
This time was different. They were stripped of their clothing, such as it was, and made to sit on the bank. Three of the women were brought from the hut and given knives. Under close watch, they began sawing away at the men's hair and beards. Only when their scalps were scraped to the point of bleeding were the women roughly pulled away and taken back to the hut. The men were given rough brushes and shoved into the creek. With rifles pointed at them, they began scrubbing.  
  
Only when their skin was nearly rubbed raw were the guards satisfied. But they didn't allow anyone out of the water. They couldn't sit, because of the rocks; nor could they stand without being poked with sticks or bayonets. They had to crouch in the water, still ice cold from its mountain origins. After a while, Kyle could no longer feel his feet or legs.  
  
Later that day, he woke up, back in the cave, still shivering, but alive. His body ached, and his scalp and face stung from the myriad scrapes and cuts. He looked over at Arnie, who stared back at him for a moment before smiling, wryly.  
  
"Well, at least we got fresh clothes out of it."  
  
Kyle smiled and nodded, then sat up, slowly. Then he saw Face was gone. Arnie's smile disappeared.  
  
"Harry came in a bit ago, with a couple others. I pretended to be asleep, but Face was already sitting up. They took him."  
  
The next two days they were left alone, other than their morning rituals. They both looked for Face during breakfast but saw no sign of him. At night, they could see the glow of the bonfire in the main cavern, over which buffalo or deer was being roasted, and hear the celebration still going on - drunken laughter, shouting, women crying.  
  
Now it was the evening of the third and last day. The bonfire was gradually going out, the women had gone silent, one by one, and the laughter and shouting had quieted. Kyle and Arnie had stopped talking, stopped wondering where Face was, what was happening. Not sure if they should postpone their plans, or go ahead without him. Neither wanted to do that, but when would they have another opportunity?  
  
They saw the shadows before the people. Harry, with two other guards, dragged Face back into the grotto, dropping him on the ground, not bothering to shackle him. Harry's grin could be seen in the dim light. Without a word, the guards walked out.  
  
Face lay for a moment, then painfully dragged himself up to lean against the wall. Kyle and Arnie waited, watching both Face and the front of the cave.  
  
Finally, Face looked at them, giving them a sickly grin.  
  
"Too bad...I can't tell Harry...goodbye..."


	26. Chapter 26

**April 16 1972 - 1 Year, 2 Months, 14 Days**  
  
They waited until the light from the fire had nearly disappeared. They hadn't heard anything from outside for a long time before that, but they were taking no chances. Kyle and Arnie quickly snapped the padlocks open, and the three gathered under the vent's opening.  
  
Arnie laced his fingers together, and Kyle put his foot in the 'stirrup'. It didn't take a huge boost to reach the opening, but it took more effort than he'd assumed to pull himself up into the vent itself. Or he was weaker than he'd thought. He pulled himself up a couple of feet and waited for Face. It took a bit more for him to climb up, but he made it without help. Now came the tricky part.  
  
Face found a large rock protruding from the side, and gripped it tightly. Bracing himself with one foot, he reached up. Kyle, in turn, reached down and grabbed Face's wrist. Then Face let his other leg dangle down in the opening. Both braced themselves, as Arnie jumped, grabbing Face's leg and pulling himself up until he, too, could grab hold of the rocks in the vent and climb the rest of the way.  
  
For several minutes, the men waited, not only trying to catch their breath, but listening for any signs their activities had been heard. There wasn't a lot of room in the vent, and they themselves were so close, Kyle could feel the heat from Face's body. He berated himself for not having Face go first; it had to have taken every bit of strength he had left to help Arnie up. But there was no going back now. He waited a little longer than he had planned before starting the long climb upwards.  
  
They tried to move as quickly as they could, but between feeling for loose rocks, almost total darkness, and the actual physical effort, it was taking much longer than any of them had expected. There were several places where there was barely room to move at all. And with every minute, every second, they expected to hear the guards yelling below.  
  
And then Kyle saw it.  
  
The moon.  
  
He wanted to shout and scream, but instead he just kept climbing. A little faster now, though still cautiously; he knew the others realized they were getting close.  
  
It seemed to take hours, but suddenly he was climbing out of the hole, and the warm breeze was blowing over his face, and he crawled away from the hole, and fell flat on the ground, breathing deeply. He heard the others climbing out, but he didn't move. He just wanted to lay there, taking in the wonderful, glorious and pure air in freedom.  
  
 **April 17 1972 - 1 Year, 2 Months, 15 Days**  
  
"Just what the hell are those, Major?"  
  
Ray smiled, sheepishly. "Those are what they call 'love beads', Colonel Lynch. I know it's not exactly kosher, especially here, but my niece, well, she's really a sweet kid, just a little...odd. And she's known Colonel Smith for a long, long time. She just wanted to send him something...personal, y'know? I didn't think there'd be any harm..."  
  
Colonel Lynch fingered the chain of beads, glaring at Ray. He didn't like Smith, and he didn't like Parish or Baracus any better. But Brenner had always treated him with the respect due his position here. He looked down at the beads - nine large, and rather ugly, black and brown beads, interspersed between smaller blue and green ones. He rubbed his fingers over them. Smooth, like polished wood.  
  
He sighed. Damn hippies. He'd had more than a few of those outside the gates over the past few years. Peace and love. Bullshit. Rabble-rousers. That's all.  
  
But what the hell. A bunch of wooden beads couldn't hurt anything. He tossed them back to Brenner.  
  
"All right. Sergeant, let the major give Smith the beads. But that's the last time, got it?"  
  
"Rest assured, Colonel. I will never do this again." Ray saluted smartly and headed for the visitor's lounge.  
  
*****  
  
They were hiding under a large outcropping of rock, deep in the shadows. Kyle had taken the lead at first, simply because he had been the first one out of the hole. There was no discussion of it later; Arnie was helping Face, who was having more and more problems as they moved along the rough terrain.  
  
They had traveled steadily to the south that first night, and stopped to rest just after dawn. Kyle had no idea how far they had actually gotten; he was more concerned with direction. The last thing he wanted to do was lead them in a circle back to the camp. He wanted to check Face's injuries but was refused. Abruptly. Face just wanted to sleep.  
  
They waited at that first stop for less than three hours, then started moving again. It was dangerous, traveling during the day, but one they all had agreed to. They'd rather take a chance on escaping some random patrol while on the move than being cornered by the camp guards.  
  
They kept moving south until well into the afternoon. Kyle kept looking at Arnie for his cues to stop; Face kept pushing at first, but as the day wore on he only concentrated on moving. At some point during their trek, Kyle looked back to see Arnie had draped Face's arm over his shoulder in order to keep them moving. That's when Kyle decided they would find a place to stay overnight. Three left that camp, and three were going to make it to freedom.  
  
The outcropping had seemed perfect. Kyle had tossed a few rocks into the shadows to make sure there wasn't anything in there they wouldn't want, and then the three had crawled and slid deep into the recess. It was close quarters, but they were completely hidden from the outside. They could relax.  
  
Face fell asleep almost immediately. Arnie nodded at Kyle, and they slid a little ways over so they could talk.  
  
"He's not doing so good, Kyle. I don't know what those bastards did to him, but I don't think he's gonna make it all the way."  
  
"We'll just take it a little slower, take a few more breaks. You and I can take turns, help him out..."  
  
"Kyle, listen, man. Neither one of us is in the greatest shape either. And we got a long way to go yet. I don't want this any more than you do, but if we slow down, we're gonna end up right back at that camp. That happens, he's dead, and you know it."  
  
"So what are you saying? He's dead either way so let's just leave him?"  
  
"I'm not saying just walk away. But this is a good spot, easy to see from the air, protected from the ground. We gather up some food for him, some water, leave him here while you and I find a friendly village, maybe another Hmong patrol, then send help back for him. It's the only way we all have a chance, him included."  
  
Kyle closed his eyes, thinking. He knew Arnie was right. The longer it took to get out of here, the better the chance of getting picked up by the wrong people. But if they tried to keep up the same pace...  
  
No. He couldn't just walk away from him. But he couldn't put Arnie at risk either. That wasn't right.  
  
Hell.  
  
What was right about any of this?  
  
*****  
  
"Hippie love beads?" Hannibal stared down at the strand in his hand, mouth open. "What the..."  
  
"Yeah, well, you know my niece, Hannibal. She was always a little strange - but she loves you guys, you know."  
  
Hannibal looked up, confused but trying to catch on. "Yeah, she...she was a sweetie."  
  
"She wanted to send BA and Wiley one, too, but she didn't have time. But hell, you could break this one up. Use the beads for good luck. Especially those big ones."  
  
"The big ones. Yeah. They'd have the most luck, right?"  
  
"Yeah. You could each have three that way. Divvy them up evenly."  
  
"Okay. Yeah." Hannibal looked at the beads again. "Good luck's always easy to swallow, right?"  
  
"Well, you might want to chew it over, too - send your luck in the right direction."  
  
"Yeah? Chew it over, huh? Yeah, that's a good idea. So how long do you think the luck will last?"  
  
"I can guarantee it for two, three days." Ray winked, then sobered. "But you know, there's hard luck, too. Sometimes you have to go through that before the good luck comes. Sometimes it's really hard luck. Something to think about."  
  
"Yeah. I think we've already thought about that, Ray. Sometimes you have to have faith - go for the gold."  
  
"Or die trying?"  
  
Hannibal's eyes squinted, and there was no mistaking the spark of anger in them.  
  
"Yeah, Ray. Or die trying."  
  
 **April 18 1972 - 1 Year, 2 Months, 16 Days**  
  
Arnie was not happy about the decision, but there was no talking Kyle out of it. Face wasn't happy about it either; he would much prefer to go with Arnie's plan. He really wanted nothing more than to stay put, not move.  
  
He should've insisted. Should've been stronger.  
  
Dawn was just showing its light when Arnie started out. He would make his way south, heading for Thailand, hoping to find a friendly village long before that. Kyle and Face would follow, at a much slower pace, and when Arnie reached safety, he would send a search party for them. He looked back once, before disappearing over a knoll.  
  
Face did insist on pulling his own weight, at least at first. He didn't mind Kyle staying close, but he walked on his own. That lasted maybe an hour. Then the dizziness hit once again, and he couldn't walk a straight line to save his life. They stopped for a few minutes, until his head stopped spinning, and when they started again, he was supported by Kyle.  
  
How far they actually walked that day, Face had no idea. It seemed like a hundred miles, but he doubted if they made more than four or five. That was probably wishful thinking. He only knew that he had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and try not to lean too heavily on his partner.  
  
It was mid-afternoon. They were making their way over a rocky section, trying to hurry, afraid they were too exposed there. Too much of a hurry. Neither one of them saw it until it was too late. Suddenly, Kyle shouted, grabbing his ankle. The two men fell to the ground, Kyle rolling in pain. Face only caught a glimpse of something slithering away into the brush.  
  
There was nothing they could do. Face tore off part of Kyle's pant leg and tied off the leg above the bite, pulled him off the rocks and into the shade. He looked for water, but there were no streams or springs close by.  
  
He didn't even know what kind of snake it had been.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal walked slowly down the hall toward the 'game room'. That's what the guards called it. In reality, it was a stripped down room at the end of their corridor, devoid of anything other than an old television set, two couches, and a table with three chairs. Hannibal, BA, and Wiley were allowed to be together all they wanted there, and provided with magazines and books. Wiley even talked a guard into giving them a deck of cards. There were no other prisoners in that entire section. Other than Ray and their attorney, they saw only guards.  
  
The isolation was their saving grace.  
  
BA was watching the Atlanta Braves playing the LA Dodgers, forcing his full concentration on the game. He wasn't a baseball fan, but they could only get a couple stations on the set. Wiley was playing a half-hearted game of solitaire. He looked up as Hannibal came in, waiting patiently while the guards undid his cuffs.  
  
BA came over to the table and sat down with the others, and Wiley started dealing out cards. No one said anything for several minutes, waiting for the guards outside the door to relax. BA finally broke the silence, though he kept his voice low.  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, Ray's niece, who is very fond of us, sent along a very nice necklace of beads."  
  
"Beads?"  
  
"Yep. Ray suggested I divide them among us, to be fair. The big ones, especially."  
  
Wiley looked at the necklace as Hannibal placed it carefully on the table, in full view of the guards. He frowned.  
  
"You know what those are?"  
  
Hannibal shook his head. "Not sure I want to."  
  
"Hannibal, those damn things could kill us."  
  
"Ray did say something to the effect that it wouldn't be pleasant. I don't think he'd give us anything lethal. At least, not enough to be lethal."  
  
"We s'pose to eat them things?"  
  
"That's right, BA. And then we're going to get sicker than dogs. But," he glanced over to the door and back, "it's guaranteed to get us into the hospital."  
  
"Or the morgue." Wiley shook his head.  
  
"Bound for that anyway, Sergeant. I think we stand a better chance with these, don't you?"  
  
Hannibal carefully pulled the delicate necklace apart and divided up all the beads. The three men sat for a while, staring at them. Somehow, knowing what those large brown beans could do made the bright red and green plastic beads look...silly.  
  
"Take them with your noon meal. Chew them, don't just swallow them whole. And then get ready for a few days of hell."  
  
"And after that?"  
  
"We'll have to wait and see what else Ray's niece has in mind."  
  
 **April 19 1972 - 1 Year, 2 Months, 17 Days**  
  
The evening wore into night, and Face held on tightly to Kyle, holding him up so he could breathe more easily. He was in a great deal of pain yet, and the swelling that had been around the ankle was now up to his knee. His whole body was hot to the touch; he hadn't spoken for a long time.  
  
Face, however, was talking a mile a minute. Encouraging, threatening, promising. Praying. He kept looking through the trees, hoping he would see a search party, whether it was the guys sent by Arnie or the guys from the camp, he didn't care. Anybody that could help, anybody. He didn't care what he had to do.  
  
The moon was high above them, peeking through the branches, when Kyle started convulsing. It lasted several minutes before stopping. A few minutes later, he had another. Then another. And then he got quiet. Still.  
  
Face held him tightly, rocking him gently, crying softly.  
  
He was still holding him when the hunting party from the camp found them the next morning.


	27. Chapter 27

**April 20 1972 - 1 Year, 2 Months, 18 Days**  
  
Arnie woke that morning, stiff and sore, and looked cautiously around. It was quiet, for the most part. Only the normal noises one would expect to hear in a mountain forest. He stood carefully, stretching one limb at a time, still watching. There was a joy in being able to stand when one wished, and stretch without getting hit, and look around, freely.  
  
Free.  
  
He looked north, down the nearly invisible path he'd come yesterday. Hoping to see some sign of the others. Knowing he wouldn't. Not yet. Ever? He shook himself, and moved out of the small copse, looking. Always looking. And started moving southward.  
  
He'd been moving for nearly two hours, at his estimate, when, off in the distance, a flock of birds suddenly took wing. He immediately looked for cover, and stepped between two large boulders, crouching down. If he hadn't been seen already, he wouldn't be now. Moments later, he heard a small branch snap. He felt cold, ice cold, but stayed still as the rock beside him. It might just be an animal of some sort. Or it could be another predator completely.  
  
A movement, higher up the slope, caught his eye. Uniforms.  
  
Hmong uniforms.  
  
He waited, letting them get closer, making sure they were what they appeared to be. He grinned, finally. Only the Hmong could walk straight up a mountain, making their own trails. He slowly stood, arms raised. No sense getting shot before they knew who he was.  
  
Within moments the hill people, grins on every face, surrounded him. They gave him food and water immediately, and someone handed him a shirt, although it was way too small. Most of these guys barely came up to his shoulders. Several of the Hmong understood basic English, and he quickly tried to tell them about Face and Kyle. It was difficult to explain where they were, or should be. He described the overhang, where he'd left them, and tried to think of other landmarks he'd passed. Anything to help point them in the right direction.  
  
Not that they were happy about it. They assured him they would try to find the others, but it meant going into an area flush with the enemy. They would have to move carefully, and they couldn't guarantee anything. But they would try. They would try very hard.  
  
Arnie wanted to go back with them, but they made it clear they could work much faster without him. Instead, with four of the patrol, he headed for their camp. Not only would he be able to rest up and get some medical attention, but they would be able to contact the Americans in Thailand, and arrange for him to be picked up.  
  
Their camp was only a short distance, but that was traveling the way the Hmong did - as a crow flies. With Arnie along, they were forced to take an easier route, and it was nearly noon before they arrived. Arnie was warmly received, but he kept looking back up the mountain. And when the radio operator wanted to call the Americans, Arnie asked him to wait.  
  
He wanted all three going out together.  
  
 **April 21 1972 - 1 Year, 2 Months, 19 Days**  
  
"I'm gonna kill him."  
  
"Now, BA..."  
  
"I'm gonna kill him. Givin us that shit..."  
  
Hannibal sat up in bed, wincing a little. His stomach muscles were still sore. "BA, you don't keep quiet, you'll have plenty of opportunity, because he'll be right along with us back in the brig. Besides, what other choice did we have?"  
  
BA grumbled, but quietly. Three days of "severe digestive problems", as these damn doctors called it, had put him in an even worse mood than he was usually in. And he still didn't know if the whole damn plan was going to work. They were supposed to be taken back to Bragg later in the morning, and Hannibal had said to play up their 'weakness'. He wanted the guards relaxed.  
  
BA looked over at Wiley, who was on the third bed, staring at the ceiling. He hadn't said much of anything so far today. Wiley'd gotten real quiet since being locked up. Not at first, after they'd gotten put back with Hannibal. But, over time...  
  
"All right, gentlemen." The doctor, flanked by three armed guards, smiled benignly at his patients. "If you'll be so good as to get dressed, your transportation is waiting."  
  
"C'mon, doc..." Hannibal frowned, holding his stomach. "Look at us. You really think we're ready to leave? Jesus..."  
  
"Yeah, man," BA groaned. "You don't even know what it was yet."  
  
"Oh, I'm satisfied it was some kind of bacterial infection, although we still haven't been able to isolate it. And I know you're still feeling some of the effects of that, but Colonel Lynch has assured me that he had your quarters thoroughly cleaned and sanitized, so the chances of relapse are very slim." He checked his watch and smiled at them again. "Well, I have other patients to see. Goodbye, gentlemen, and good luck...uh, I mean...well..." Flustered, the doctor hurried out, followed by the guards.  
  
"Well, at least he had the grace to be embarrassed."  
  
"Yeah, luck's what we been damn short of, Hannibal."  
  
"Relax, BA. I have a feeling that's going to change. Right, Wiley?"  
  
Wiley finally looked over them, sitting up stiffly. "Sure, Colonel. Whatever you say..."  
  
*****  
  
Arnie was awake long before the rest of the camp. Long before the dawn even thought about breaking. He climbed out of the small tent, once again feeling that gratitude that he could actually step outside. But his thoughts were on the mountain above.  
  
The patrol hadn't come back yesterday. The commander of the camp didn't seem worried. They had a long way to go and would be searching for tracks, any other signs that the two men had passed that way. Arnie had been assured they would keep looking until they either found the men or knew what had happened to them.  
  
Arnie wandered across the camp. It wasn't large, and definitely one that could be easily broken down and disbanded quickly. He was aware that he still wasn't completely safe, but after the camp, after the flight over the mountains, it was safe enough. And these were war-hardened guerillas, not teen-aged boys.  
  
He looked up at the mountain once again, thinking of that boy, trying not to. And that's when he saw them, coming over the rise, heading for the camp.  
  
*****  
  
Ray sat back in his chair, looking at the clock on the wall. The guys would be leaving the hospital sometime in the next half-hour, making the trek across the base to the stockade. It was a long trip.  
  
And the base wasn't really as secure as people thought.  
  
He stood and wandered over to the window. An unexpected bonus, there. He was able to see the rear entrance to the hospital, and could just see the top of the transport, waiting. He waited, as well, until he saw the doors at the back open, and two MPs came out. He turned from the window then, and walked casually out to his secretary's desk. They chatted for a few minutes, then he made a show of looking at the clock, and announcing he was headed over to the Officer's Club.  
  
He took a long time ordering lunch, teasing the waitress, making sure she would remember him. And then, just as his lunch was being served, he checked the clock again.  
  
Hopefully, they were right on schedule.  
  
*****  
  
'Hey, Murdock! C'mon - gotta go over the fence, man!"  
  
"What? Why? We just..."  
  
"They found one of ours! Arnhold, remember? Lost him a couple months ago."  
  
Murdock stared in disbelief. "Really? Where at?"  
  
His crew chief frowned. "That's the problem. He's at a camp west of LS168, and they want us to pick him near the camp."  
  
"Aw, man..."  
  
"I know, but they said he can't walk that far. Guess he came from somewhere further north, and he's about done in."  
  
Murdock shook his head. Not that he wasn't eager to pick up a fellow pilot, but they'd been having way too many close calls lately, lost too many people. Landing at the Limas was dangerous enough; trying to find a place out in the boonies...  
  
"Okay, Chris, let's get 'er up!"  
  
*****  
  
They waited in the bushes, just beside the road. They'd been waiting since late last night, long after dark, long after both the town and the base had quieted down to almost total silence. For six veterans, most with two or more tours under their belts, it had been, to quote the Old Man, a piece of cake.  
  
The ambush was a variation of one they had seen and used many times before. And with only one vehicle to deal with, and MPs versus experienced combat soldiers, they weren't worried about failure. They not only felt confident about their mission and their ability to pull it off, but their reasons for doing it. And those were as different as the men themselves. Some automatically believed the story the colonel had told; others felt, orders or not, it was a great idea; still others had their own grudges against the Army. The one unifying factor was Hannibal Smith.  
  
The large security van came around the curve, down into the short hollow. It was made for an ambush, but who would worry about that on a military base? The driver thought he heard a shout, slowed down, thinking there was a problem with the prisoners, then slammed on the brakes as the road ahead was suddenly filled with smoke.  
  
Six men, heavily bearded and wearing dark sunglasses to complement their jungle fatigues, ran from the bushes, taking quick advantage of the confusion caused by their smoke bombs. With the driver covered, they banged on the back door, ordering the remaining guards out with the real-sounding threat of shooting the driver.  
  
Less than an hour later, the MPs were found, handcuffed together around a large tree. The van was found later that day, still on Army property, but there was no sign of the hijackers, or of the three escaped prisoners.  
  
*****  
  
"They know where he is...where the body is. Please! It's not that far by air. These guys said they'd go along..."  
  
"Look, I'm sorry, but I damn near got my ass shot down getting here, and it ain't gonna be any easier getting back. They'll go in for the body later, when there's not so many gooks around."  
  
Murdock could feel the glare going right through him, and heard the bang of a fist on the side of the chopper. He didn't blame the guy one bit. But he had to accept reality. He not only had to get this guy back to base safely, but he had his crew to think about as well. If he was lucky, he'd have just enough fuel to get back to base, not to mention he'd gotten fired on more this trip than he ever had before. Damned if he was going to get them all killed trying to find and pick up a body.  
  
There'd been too many deaths. He sometimes thought he could remember every one of them.  
  
Some never left him alone.  
  
They arrived at Udon on fumes, with a few more holes in the bird, but intact. Arnie was immediately hustled off to see the doctors; Murdock and Chris promised to stop in and see him after they got their paperwork filed. Murdock watched as the entourage headed for the hospital, growing ever bigger. He shook his head. He should feel good. Should feel great. Instead, he just felt tired.  
  
Murdock and Chris finally headed over to the hospital some time later, figuring to wait until the doctors were finished. Even so, they had to wait until the brass had finished talking to him. Chris decided to go get some coffee, and Murdock pulled up a chair on the other side of the curtain surrounding Arnie's bed. He could hear them talking on the other side. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep, half-listening to the murmurs.  
  
"So the patrol saw everything?"  
  
"Yeah. They were about to go down and get them both when the PLs came running up from the north. Grabbed him, tied him up and took off again, back toward the camp."  
  
"And they're sure the other one was dead?"  
  
"Yeah. As soon as the PLs were gone, the patrol went down to make sure. He'd been dead a while, they said."  
  
"Well, I'll see if we can recover the body as soon as possible. I hate to make anything official until we know for sure."  
  
"It had to have been Face, Major. He was on his way out when we left the camp."  
  
" 'Face' is the only name you knew him by?"  
  
"That's it. He never really said..." Arnie stopped, staring, puzzled, as Murdock ripped the curtain aside and stared back, voice barely above a whisper.  
  
"His name was Templeton Peck. But he's been dead for a long time..."  
  
 **May 13 1972 - 1 Year, 3 Months, 11 Days**  
  
"Captain?"  
  
Go away.  
  
"Captain Murdock, I'd like to speak with you."  
  
Murdock rolled over on his cot, staring at the officer standing beside it. He didn't bother getting up, or saluting.  
  
"What are you? Another headshrinker?"  
  
"No, Captain. I have some news..."  
  
"You found Face?" Murdock practically jumped from the bed, grabbing the man's shoulders. "You got him? Where is he?"  
  
"Captain, please." He removed Murdock's hands, almost gently. Murdock stepped back like he'd been shot. Something was wrong.  
  
"We did locate the area where he was. Unfortunately, even though the Hmong buried him, well...with the rain coming early, and the...wildlife..."  
  
I don't want to hear this. I don't.  
  
"We were able to recover some of the...some of the body, but...not enough to make a positive ID. Not to the Army's satisfaction, at any rate. But, I believe, based on Sergeant Arnhold's statement..."  
  
Murdock hadn't mean to hurt him, of course. He just got in the way.  
  
He looked out of the window. The window with the little criss-cross wires in it. The window that looked out over the grounds of the VA hospital.  
  
He wondered when they would come and tell him that the rest of the guys were dead, as well.


	28. Chapter 28

**June 7 1972 - 1 Year, 4 Months, 5 Days**  
  
He shifted slightly, trying to get his face out of the mud, trying hard not to make any noise. Didn't work; one of them threw a rock; it bounced off the bamboo grille above him before ricocheting onto his arm. He winced, biting his lip. He heard them laugh, but no one came over.  
  
A blessing.  
  
They pretty much ignored him now. Left him alone in the small pit, throwing in food now and then, leaving him to drink the muddy water that accumulated with the rains. Not like when they brought him back. Stick kept yelling at him and swinging that bamboo cane. Then he walked away, and Harry came over, grinning. Face always hated it when Harry grinned.  
  
They were going to teach him a lesson. No one escaped from Stick and now one had gotten away and another had died, and it was all Face's fault. He'd made Stick look bad, look incompetent in his commander's eyes. Stick had taken it out on his men.  
  
Someone had to pay for that.  
  
When they'd first caught up with him, they'd tied his arms behind his back at the elbows. Tight. He'd walked all the way back to camp like that. If he thought that had been painful, it was nothing compared to when they cut the ropes. Then came the shove, and he landed face down on the hard packed dirt. He couldn't help the shout of pain when they grabbed his arms and pulled them up, tying them to the base of a tree a few feet from his head. His pajama trousers were literally ripped from his body, and his ankles pulled apart and tied, his body forming an upside-down Y. He stared up at Harry, who stood by his head. In his hands Harry held a thin shoot of bamboo. Face looked to the side; several other guards were similarly armed.  
  
The first swing came from his other side, across the middle of his back. The next across his shoulders, then his thighs, feet...everywhere.  
  
Over and over and over.  
  
Over the next few days, he couldn't be sure how many, they would repeat their 'lesson'. Sometimes several guards at a time, sometimes only two or three. But always Harry. Face got to the point where he no longer felt the blows; he didn't feel the ants or mosquitoes either. Once in a while, they'd throw a bucket of water on him; whether to rinse off the blood and mess or just to wake him up, he didn't know. After a while, he didn't care.  
  
Then late one night, when the camp was quiet, Harry came alone.  
  
 **February 12 1973 - 2 Years, 10 Days**  
  
"Do you think he's there?"  
  
"How the hell would I know?"  
  
Murdock glared at the other man and turned back to the television. He had no idea what Kyle Hanson looked like, but he searched every face that came off the plane anyway. He tried to picture him the way Arnie described him, both with the long hair and beard and all shaved off, but then, it had been almost a year since...  
  
He sat back from the television, staring at the ceiling, his fingers drumming fast and furious on the arm of the couch. Who was he trying to kid? These guys were all coming from North Vietnam. Someone had said a couple were from Laos, but there were so many rumors flying around the VA, who the hell knew?  
  
And it wasn't like it was Face...  
  
Suddenly he didn't want to watch any more. Yeah, it was great, all those POWs finally getting released, finally coming home. But there could've been one more. There should've been.  
  
He wandered out of the day room, hands in pockets, and headed for his room. He wasn't supposed to. He was supposed to "mingle", be sociable. Open up. What bullshit. So he went back to his room, and stood by the window, looking out at the patients who had "outside privileges".  
  
He'd lost his privilege again. He usually did. He could go out in what they called The Yard - a fenced in area where they were watched to make sure no one tried to go over the fence. But until he agreed, again, not to try and get to the bus stop, he couldn't go anywhere else on the grounds. Not by himself, anyway.  
  
He sighed. He didn't know why he wanted to get on a bus. He didn't know where he planned on going. He just knew he wanted to go someplace.  
  
Where Hannibal and the guys were.  
  
Wherever that was.  
  
He frowned, looked across the grounds to the street. Sometimes he was sure he could see MPs watching. He'd tried to tell the doctors that. Big mistake. Now he had paranoia added to the list. It was pretty stupid for the Army to think Hannibal would contact him, but they did. Came every now and then, asking if Hannibal had called, or written. Stupid.  
  
He probably didn't even know where Murdock was.  
  
Hannibal didn't know where Murdock was, Murdock didn't know where Hannibal was, Hannibal didn't know Face had been alive, didn't know Face was dead - no, he knew he was dead, he just didn't know he hadn't been when he thought he was.  
  
Murdock slammed his fist against the sill. If only he'd known. If Murdock had known they hadn't actually seen him die, if he'd thought there was a chance, he'd have gone after him. He could've flown the area, looked for him, brought him home.  
  
Even if it was to Bragg. It would've been better...  
  
He should've gone to look for him anyway.  
  
He should've.  
  
 **February 20 1973 - 2 Years, 18 Days**  
  
He reached over slowly, cautiously. Watching. The guards hadn't even looked his way for a long time. But that didn't mean anything. They pretended not to see, but they did. Not always. But enough so he wanted to be careful. He stretched a little more. It hurt, but so did the gnawing in his stomach. His eye on the guards, he felt the soft pulp and quickly grabbed it, hiding it immediately behind him. He waited again, making sure the guards were otherwise occupied, before stuffing it into his mouth, swallowing it quickly.  
  
He glanced at the pile of garbage. Anything else edible was out of reach, and later tonight they would bury it. He sighed and adjusted his position. He wasn't allowed to stand, and he wasn't allowed to actually sit, so his knees were stiffening up; he could deal with that. Better stiff knees than another caning.  
  
He looked again at the garbage. There was a small potato on top. Clearly out of reach, but so tempting. Then he saw the bit of fat, just on the edge. He reached over, slowly, watching. He grabbed it, gulped it down, dirt, ants and all, then smiled softly, triumphant. Then felt his face grow hot with shame.  
  
He was glad Hannibal couldn't see him now.  
  
 **February 24 1973 - 2 Years, 22 Days**  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure, Hannibal. He definitely went off his nut, and they sent him stateside almost a year ago."  
  
"Damn!" Hannibal tossed the cigar over the balcony, stared down at the traffic below. "I should've found some way of getting in touch with him, let him know what was going on."  
  
"Hannibal, it's not your fault. None of us wanted to get Murdock involved any more than he already was." Wiley stepped around so he could look at Hannibal straight on. "He had to stay in the dark, Hannibal. The less he knew, the less chance he'd be charged. You know that."  
  
"I could've at least told him about Face. They were friends."  
  
Wiley frowned. "Hannibal, Face wasn't friends with anybody. You know that. And Murdock would've found out before we could get to him anyway."  
  
"Any idea where he is? Did they discharge him?"  
  
"I don't know yet. It's tricky. He transferred over to the spooks, y'know. But Freddie's checking on it."  
  
BA looked up from the couch. "Hope he ain't wanderin the streets, man. They wouldn't just dump him, would they?"  
  
"No, I don't think they would, BA. I think the Army's going to take damn good care of him, whether the spooks care or not. And somehow, I don't think it'll be that hard for Freddie to find him." He turned and grinned. "After all, he was our pilot."  
  
 **March 20 1973 - 2 Years, 1 Month, 18 Days**  
  
They had moved again. Every few days, a week at most, Stick would break camp, move them further south, further east. Face had been surprised the first time, because he was taken along. Surprised, first because Stick hated him, and second, because the commander had allowed it. But then why not? They'd told him, months ago, that the Americans had fled, tails between their legs, leaving their criminals behind. Now the PL was taking advantage of the cease-fire with the government to build up supplies and material. No reason to keep useless prisoners. Face would have to work off his crimes.  
  
On the trail, he carried supplies, staggering under the weight, desperate to keep up, not have the rope around his waist jerked viciously. Once they reached the new camp, he was taken out to gather firewood, roots, water. Kicks and fists were used if he went the wrong way, or wasn't fast enough. Once that was done, he would either be allowed to eat or just tied to a tree for the night. If Harry was particularly dissatisfied with him, he would be tied hugging the tree, wrists and knees tightly bound on the other side. To pass the time, the guards would toss things at him, seeing who was the most accurate at hitting whatever body part they chose.  
  
He found he could guess how long they would be staying in any one camp. If he was forced to dig a hole, just barely big enough for him to lie in, he knew they would be there for several days. He would live in that hole, with a bamboo grille secured over it, until they were once again ready to move on. If they were only going to be there a day or two, he was left tied to the tree.  
  
They had been at this camp for almost four days now. He could hear a lot of activity in the camp, a lot of excited talking and shouting. He could see a little of the activity, as men passed by. Something big was going to happen.  
  
He sighed, closed his eyes. He just wanted to sleep. It had nothing to do with him.  
  
Hopefully.  
  
 **March 21 1973 - 2 Years, 1 Month, 19 Days**  
  
"Hannibal, this is nuts, man!"  
  
"Well, then you'll be in good hands, Wiley." Hannibal was looking out the windshield, a satisfied smile on his face. Wiley, seated behind him, glared.  
  
"BA, talk some sense into him, will ya?"  
  
"I give that up a long time ago." Nevertheless, he also glared at Hannibal. "What happens if Murdock don't keep his trap shut, huh?"  
  
"I doubt there are any MPs hiding in the closet, BA. If he does raise a ruckus, I'm sure Wiley can talk his way out of it. Just remember," Hannibal turned to look at Wiley, and he was dead serious now, "you just find him, let him know we're okay, and that we'll be in touch. Then you get the hell out of there. No chit-chat."  
  
"Hell, don't have to worry about that, Colonel." Wiley took one more worried look up and down the street, and stepped out of the car. He straightened his suit coat, loosened his tie and marched up to the door of the Westwood VA. One last glare in Hannibal's direction and he was in.  
  
He stepped into the lobby, nervously looking at the people seated here and there, nurses and orderlies scurrying about. Took a deep breath, reminding himself, as Hannibal had told him, that this was just a different kind of recon. He stepped up to the desk, waiting patiently for the clerk on the phone. Finally, she hung up and smiled up at him.  
  
"Yes, sir, may I help you?"  
  
No MPs in the closets.  
  
"Yeah, I'm looking for an old buddy of mine. A mutual friend said he was here."  
  
"Oh? What's the name?"  
  
"Uh, Murdock. H.M. Murdock. He was a pilot."  
  
"Just a moment." She pulled down a large book, started turning the pages. "Okay. He should be just down the hall, in the day room."  
  
"Thanks." Wiley moved down the hall, trying to walk casually. Just another visitor. No MPs in the closets.  
  
But only a phone call away.  
  
Wiley saw him almost immediately, even though he was facing away from him. Hard to miss that jacket. He walked forward, whistling softly. The old tune; everybody who'd worked with Hannibal knew it. Knew it was 'reserved' for Hannibal's guys.  
  
Murdock had been leaning against the windowsill, but as Wiley got closer, still whistling softly, he slowly straightened and turned. Wiley was surprised. Other than some pretty dark circles under his eyes, and a few pounds lost, Murdock looked good. He smiled, shaking his head.  
  
"Murdock, Murdock, Murdock. Leave you alone for a few months and look what happens."  
  
Murdock stood perfectly still for another moment, staring, and then jerked his head to the side. Wiley took a quick glance behind him, then followed him out of the day room. A couple minutes later they were in Murdock's room with the door closed tight. Then, and only then, did Murdock take a swing at him.  
  
"Hey, watch it!" Wiley sidestepped quickly, raising an arm defensively. "What gives, Murdock?"  
  
"Where the hell were you guys? You broke out how long ago, and you don't let me know what happened, where you are, if you're even alive..."  
  
"Murdock, we couldn't! Okay? We didn't even know where you were until last week. I'm taking a hell of a chance coming here today. So lighten up, okay?"  
  
Murdock didn't look like he wanted to lighten up, but he stepped back, dropping down on the bed. He glared at Wiley for a moment, then gave him a lop-sided smile.  
  
"It is good to see you. You all together, or split up?"  
  
"Together. Been moving around a lot. All over the damn country. Staying with friends, relatives - anybody we know won't turn us in."  
  
Murdock nodded, solemn.  
  
"I can't stay long. We just wanted to make sure you really were here and doing okay. Let you know we'll try to stay in touch, now that we found you. You okay with that?"  
  
"Hey, as long as I know you guys are around, I'm okay."  
  
Wiley nodded and glanced anxiously at the window. Murdock chuckled.  
  
"Go ahead and skedaddle, Wiley. Drop me a postcard if you can't visit."  
  
Wiley grinned. "Sure, Murdock."  
  
Murdock stood suddenly and grabbed his arm. "I mean it, Wiley. I need to know. I just...need to know."  
  
Wiley sobered, wrapped his hand around Murdock's wrist. "We will, okay? We stick together now. Just like before."  
  
Murdock watched from his doorway, long after Wiley had left.  
  
Not quite like before.  
  
 **March 23 1973 - 2 Years, 1 Month, 21 Days**  
  
Face opened his eyes, looked blankly at the dirt wall. God, it was so hot. Like an oven. He must be hallucinating. He could swear he heard someone whispering. In English.  
  
"Hey! C'mon, man, wake up."  
  
He frowned. Turned his head, but it made him dizzy. He closed his eyes.  
  
"Wake up! We don't have much time."  
  
He opened his eyes again and tilted his head. Stared up at the face leaning over the edge of his hole.  
  
American?  
  
"What's your name, guy? Your name?"  
  
There weren't any Americans anymore. They were all gone. Even Arnie. And...  
  
He looked up again, trying to see in the moonlight.  
  
"Kyle...?"  
  
"Okay, my name's Ben. We're on our way to Saigon, so they say. Gonna go home. You coming, too?"  
  
Saigon? Home? Yeah. Dao Quy was in Saigon. That was home, then. But he wasn't going. He couldn't even remember what she looked like anymore. She wouldn't want him now, anyway. Suddenly, he remembered he was lying in a filthy hole, naked, smelling like shit and piss...  
  
He turned away, tried to push himself into the side of the hole, out of sight. Then he was saved. He heard the guards, shouting, angry. Ben was gone.  
  
He didn't care when the bamboo was yanked back, and Harry pulled him out of the hole by his hair. He'd be punished now, for talking. For being seen.  
  
He didn't care.  
  
 **March 26 1973 - 2 Years, 1 Month, 24 Days**  
  
He should have known things would change after Ben. He wasn't sure he hadn't imagined the whole thing, even after the beating. If anything, he was more unsure after that. He wondered, for a while, if Harry had done some damage upstairs. It was only that savagery that made him think maybe Ben really had been there.  
  
That, and the fact Harry had dragged him out of sight of the camp to do it.  
  
The next three days were a nightmare. Another lesson to be learned. He was made to wait on them hand and foot. If he moved too slow, if he moved too fast, if he didn't do things exactly the way they wanted it done...  
  
Stick had been keeping things from getting totally out of hand. But he no longer seemed to care what the others did. Instead of being shoved in his little hole, he was leashed. A rope tied tightly around his waist, the other to a tree, long enough so he could wait on the guards, but not long enough for him to run from them. He ignored the softer things they threw at him; he tried not to run from the rocks, but that was near suicide. He decided he didn't care if it made them laugh. He ran from the rocks, this way, that way, inevitably forgetting the length of the rope.  
  
The only time he'd felt relatively safe was at night, locked once again in his hole. Then last night, Harry had hauled him out after the camp had gone quiet. A couple quick hits with the baton reminded him to keep still.  
  
He barely noticed when he fell back in. He heard something fall in after him, like metal. He held back until Harry had walked away, then threw up. Only when the heaving finally stopped did he even think about looking for the metal. He felt around, carefully, until he found them. There were several pieces, and he held them up to the moonlight, hands shaking. First one, then another, and another. Dog tags.  
  
The dog tags Harry had collected.  
  
That's when he got scared.


	29. Chapter 29

**March 26 1973 - 2 Years, 1 Month, 24 Days**  
  
He slowly woke the next morning. He started to turn and immediately stopped as pain lanced through his body. As it slowly receded, he thought about the day ahead, and wished Harry had just killed him last night and been done with it. He felt the dog tags under his hand. He clasped them tightly, wondering again what it meant.  
  
Vaguely he became aware of the noises from the camp. He frowned. Those weren't the typical morning sounds, the sounds as the men woke up, prepared breakfast, cleaned their weapons. It sounded more like they were breaking camp. He turned his head slowly and looked up. The sun was quite high in the east.  
  
Why hadn't they gotten him up? Every time they'd gotten ready to move out before, Face had been brought out almost before anyone else, set to cleaning up the camp, gathering and packing up equipment.  
  
He looked at the dog tags.  
  
For the next hour or more, he listened as the men talked to each other, heard the sounds of tents being folded, utensils clattering as they were packed away, Harry and Stick ordering people about. And then the voices started fading away.  
  
Silence.  
  
He listened, holding his breath. They'd left? Just like that?  
  
Left him?  
  
Cautiously, afraid that maybe they were still there, waiting for him to climb out of the hole, waiting to spring their trap, he reached up and pushed on the bamboo grille above him.  
  
Pushed again.  
  
It wouldn't budge.  
  
His arms dropped to the ground. He shifted, trying to see out. Above him, he could see a log over the end of the bamboo, holding it in place. Pushing his face up against the bars, he looked at the end by his head.  
  
A second log, holding the other end.  
  
He started shoving frantically against the bars, yelling out in a hoarse voice. Yelling until his voice gave out, pushing until his strength was gone.  
  
In the newly restored silence, small animals crept into the abandoned camp, scrounging for leftovers.  
  
 **March 27 1973 - 2 Years, 1 Month, 25 Days**  
  
"Well, Captain, that just about does it. We'll get a more complete report once you're back stateside. Give you some time to spend with your family."  
  
"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir. There is one thing - that guy at the last camp we were at. Any word on him?"  
  
"Well, it's difficult." The officer flipped through his notes, frowning. "You only got a first name...Kyle, correct?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. He didn't come back with us, but I just assumed..."  
  
"Well, we'll certainly do our best to see if he's been returned. Possibly with one of the other groups."  
  
"I'd appreciate it if you could check before I go, Sir. He, uh...he didn't look too good. I'd rest easier if I knew, you know, for sure."  
  
The officer hesitated. It would take time to cross-reference their lists, more with only a first name. But looking at the captain, he decided it was little enough to do.  
  
"I'll get someone on it. Kyle isn't that common a name, so maybe it won't take that long. I'll do my best to get back to you before you leave. Otherwise, well, it's irregular, but I'll forward any information I find to you."  
  
"Thank you, Sir." Captain Ben Green saluted smartly and stepped out of the office.  
  
Major Fillmore watched him leave, shaking his head. Picking up his notes, he jotted a few items down on a separate paper before heading for his clerk's office. He dropped the paper on the desk.  
  
"See what you can come up with on this guy, will you? ASAP."  
  
"Yessir!" The clerk grabbed the paper and immediately began going through his lists.  
  
 **March 28 1973 - 2 Years, 1 Month, 26 Days**  
  
He stared up at the sky, sweat slowly drifting down his forehead. Watched as the sun slowly crossed the sky, beating down through the trees, baking the earth surrounding him. He wondered idly which would get him first - the heat or the thirst.  
  
Or one of those things that he'd heard sniffing at the edges of his grave.  
  
He swatted at the mosquitoes buzzing around his head. They were like a million pinpricks over his body. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep them off.  
  
He turned on his side, wincing at the sharp little pains the movement caused. Looked down at the dog tags, laying in the dirt. Looked at the beaded chains holding them together. Frowned. He picked up one set, staring at the chain again. Looked up at the bamboo above him.  
  
Chewing softly on his lower lip, he reached up, looping the chain over the bamboo. Taking one end with each hand, he slowly started running the chain across the bamboo. Back and forth.  
  
Back and forth.  
  
Softly crying as the flakes of fiber slowly floated down and settled on his face.  
  
 **March 29 1973 - 2 Years, 1 Month, 27 Days**  
  
"I think we should take it, Hannibal. Let's face it. We can't keep living off other people, no matter how much they want to help."  
  
Hannibal sighed. They'd gone through these discussions countless times over the last few months, and it always ended in stone-cold silence between them, sometimes for a couple days. Hannibal didn't like the idea of Wiley even contacting these people, let alone working for them. This time, he knew he would have to give in. Wiley was right. They'd been living off charity for almost a year. It was time to pull their own weight.  
  
"Okay, Wiley. What's the job? And the pay?"  
  
"It's a simple recovery op, Colonel. South America. One bunch kidnapped an official of the other side and his family, and we just go in and get them. Shouldn't take more than a week, maybe two."  
  
That didn't sound too bad. "Whose side are our guys on?"  
  
Wiley frowned. "Does it matter? We're not overthrowing a government, Hannibal. We're just rescuing a family. And we get five grand each for it, plus expenses. That would last us a long time."  
  
Hannibal pulled out a cigar, looked out the window. They'd been staying with yet another 'comrade-in-arms' for the last week, and the guy was getting a little antsy. Happened, sometimes. Some places they could stay as long as they wanted; others wanted to help, but, like this guy, would just as soon put the war behind them. If, as Wiley said, they were only expected to get the family out, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He looked over at BA.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
BA shook his head. "I don't like it any better'n you do, Hannibal. But what choice we got? 'Sides, kidnappin a family ain't right."  
  
"So it's a go?"  
  
"Yeah, Wiley. It's a go."  
  
 **April 2 1973 - 2 Years, 2 Months**  
  
The bamboo gave a final loud crack and fell down, hitting him in the stomach. It hurt, but so did his arms. He was still for several minutes, catching his breath, letting the muscles in his arms and shoulders relax. Reaching up once more, he started to pull himself out of the hole. It took almost more strength than he had left, but after several minutes' struggle, he fell onto the ground beside it. Concentrating, he reached over the edge and scrambled for the dog tags. He'd broken two of the chains and had been worried he would break the third and last before he finally cut through the remaining bamboo, but it had held. He'd saved that one for the last.  
  
Kyle's.  
  
Hands still shaking, he carefully undid the chain and slid the loose dog tags on. It seemed to take forever before he could get the catch closed again He looped the chain over his head, and tried to stand. It took some time, but he finally staggered up. Looking around, he could barely tell there had ever been a camp. He made for the river, down the hill from the site. He had to have water.  
  
He was a few yards from the bank when his foot caught on a root. He fell, banging his way down the hill and rolling clumsily into the water. He lay where he was, gulping in the cool water, letting it wash over his body.  
  
And promptly threw it up.  
  
Shaking dizzily, he tried again, forcing himself to drink only a little at a time. It stayed down that time, and once the dizziness passed, he dragged himself out of the water, and sat, exhausted, on the bank.  
  
He looked around. It suddenly dawned on him that he was totally alone in this wildness. He listened, eyes closed, to the sounds of the forest. Birds, animals.  
  
No people.  
  
None.  
  
He stood, weaving, and made his way along the bank. A few yards further down he saw them. Tracks, at the very edge of the water. The only place the ground was still soft. Boots. Harry and the others had gone this way.  
  
He looked around him once more.  
  
Totally alone.  
  
He turned, looking once more at the tracks, leading into the river.  
  
He slowly waded in after them.  
  
 **April 6 1973 - 2 Years, 2 Months, 4 Days**  
  
The nurse looked up from the desk. A young man stood there, late twenties maybe, in uniform. He smiled uncertainly at her.  
  
"May I help you?"  
  
"Uh, I think so. I'd like to see a Captain..." he glanced at a piece of paper held tightly in his fingers, "Murdock. Captain Murdock."  
  
"Oh, I believe he's out on the grounds right now." She glanced around, spotted an orderly. "Jerry! Can you take this gentleman out to see Captain Murdock, please?" She smiled encouragingly at the young man as he hesitated.  
  
"Is he...okay? I mean, he's not..." He blushed.  
  
"No, he's not violent. And usually quite coherent. You'll be fine."  
  
He nodded and followed the orderly through the lobby to the back of the building. Once there, the orderly looked around for a moment before pointing to a man in a leather jacket and baseball cap, sitting under a tree, reading. The young man nodded and walked slowly over to him.  
  
"Captain Murdock?"  
  
Murdock looked up from the book, squinting, then scowling. Not another military type. These guys just never learned.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm Captain Green. Ben Green."  
  
"Congratulations." He looked back down at the book. He'd been on the same page for almost an hour. He wanted to look at the cover, remind himself of what he was reading, but not while this turkey was here. He glanced up at him again, noticed he seemed nervous.  
  
Maybe not CID, then. He put the book down on his lap.  
  
"You want me for something?"  
  
"Well, I think so. I, uh, I just got back from Nam a few days ago. I was a POW. Over in Laos."  
  
Murdock dropped the book as he clambered to his feet, startling Ben. Startled him even worse when Murdock grabbed his arm and pulled him off toward the street, furtively glancing around. They stopped a few feet from the sidewalk.  
  
"What about Laos?"  
  
"Uh, well, maybe this is nothing, but...me and another guy were being moved, so we could get picked up for release. One night, we stopped at this other camp. I saw a fella there, in some kind of hole in the ground. Like a cell. I didn't have time to talk to him for long, but he said his name was Kyle..."  
  
"He was alive?"  
  
"Well, yeah, barely."  
  
"Did they release him, too?"  
  
"Well, no. I'm not sure why. There were a lot of guys lost over the fence that didn't show up on any PL lists, and nobody seems to know why, or what happened to them. This guy isn't the first I knew about. But, uh, the brass did some checking for me, found out who he was. Your name was mentioned in a couple of the reports they had on him, and since he didn't list any other relatives..."  
  
"No family?" Murdock had tried but hadn't been able to get any information on Kyle.  
  
"No, I guess his mother passed away a few years ago, and his father just disappeared after Kyle joined the Army. I figured some kind of falling out..."  
  
"So you came looking for me?"  
  
"Yeah. You and Matt Arnhold. The guy I talked to said you'd both put in requests for information. I already called Arnhold, told him what I knew. You were close by, so..."  
  
"So he was alive when you saw him. How long ago?"  
  
"Couple weeks. But, like I say, he was in pretty rough shape. I don't know if...well, I just wish I had more info for you, but..."  
  
"No, I appreciate it. I really do." Murdock gazed off at the far buildings.  
  
After several moments of silence, Ben cleared his throat and awkwardly said goodbye. Murdock just nodded, continued staring off.  
  
Kyle Hanson had been alive two weeks ago.  
  
And that meant Face had to be dead.  
  
Had to be.  
  
 **April 15 1973 - 2 Years, 2 Months, 13 Days**  
  
It was Providence again, he was quite sure of it. Just like losing Harry's trail before he caught up with them, before he came to his senses. Providence.  
  
The heat of the afternoon had driven him, like all the other animals, into finding whatever shade he could. He'd fallen asleep, waking suddenly sometime later. It was staring right at him.  
  
Within arm's reach.  
  
He held his breath, afraid to move. It turned, apparently satisfied, and started to slowly crawl away into a crevice. He waited until its head disappeared between the rock, and then grabbed the tail, swinging it hard, smashing the head and upper body onto the rocks. His fingers tore at the skin, desperate to get at the meat, shoving it into his mouth as fast as it was ripped out.  
  
Snake-eater, indeed. Lizard was just as good.  
  
For some reason, he found that funny. He chuckled, then laughed. Kept laughing.  
  
It echoed across the valley, startling the other animals in its violence.  
  
 **April 27 1973 - 2 Years, 2 Months, 25 Days**  
  
"Father?"  
  
O'Malley put his book down and turned in his chair. "Yes, Sister?"  
  
"There's a special delivery for you, Father." She looked pale. "From the Army."  
  
"Oh, dear." He stood quickly, shaking his head and hurrying toward the front of the rectory. He had several young men in various branches of the military, and three of them were MIA, as they called it.  
  
He signed for the letter and noticed his hand shook, ever so slightly. He walked, more slowly, back to his study, smiling sadly at Sister Alice as he passed by. He sat back in his easy chair, placing the letter carefully on the small table beside it. There was no rush to read it. Whatever had happened was done with, and he wanted a few minutes to prepare himself before finding out whom it had happened to.  
  
Jeremy had been missing for less than six months, somewhere near the DMZ. Roger, three months before that. Templeton had been gone the longest, over two years now, although the Army had told him of the possible sighting a little over a year ago.  
  
A year ago.  
  
O'Malley sighed deeply. Reached over and picked up the envelope, stared at it for a moment, and then opened it. Slowly. A short, cold summary of the circumstances, then the finality.  
  
"Since no information has been received which would support a presumption of his continued survival, the Department of the Army must now terminate his absence by a presumptive finding of death. Accordingly, an official finding of death has been recorded. We regret the necessity for this message but trust that the ending of a long period of uncertainty may give at least some small consolation."  
  
The letter fluttered to the floor, and Father O'Malley stared again at the calendar.  
  
A simple letter, and just like that, Templeton was dead.


	30. Chapter 30

**May 3 1973 - 2 Years, 3 Months, 3 Days**  
  
He stared down at the village. He'd been watching them for a long time.  
  
It wasn't the first time. He'd stopped at several villages, farms, along his way. But never made contact. Never gotten too close. He'd wanted to. God knows he wanted to. But he remembered how Hannibal steered clear of them before. Never knew who was friend, who was enemy.  
  
Never.  
  
He forced his thoughts away from Hannibal, back to the village. It was getting late, the last vestiges of sunlight disappearing over the far mountains. He didn't like being down in the plains. Too open, too easy to be seen. But this time, he'd decided to chance it. He had to. The fruit in the woods were nearly non-existent now, and he didn't seem to be as quick catching the lizards and snakes. Small animals were completely out of the question.  
  
He moved down the hillside, moving cautiously into the rice paddies. They were only now starting to plant, and he had to slide down into the muck of the paddies so he wouldn't be seen. He slithered his way across the paddy, slowly so as not to make any noise. By the time he reached the edge of the field, it was nearly pitch dark, and the villagers were inside, lanterns gradually lighting up the windows. He slid out of the water, and scurried to a small shed, taking shelter on the far side. He sat and began the process of methodically removing the leeches, concentrating on that to calm himself. He could feel them on his back and rubbed against the shed. Not the best way to remove the bastards, but he didn't care.  
  
By the time he was finished, the last outside activity around the village had ceased, and he stood, looking cautiously around the corner of the shed. His first destination was the large storage shed at the far end of the village. That's where the food stores were. If he accomplished nothing more before having to leave, he was going to eat.  
  
He crept through the dark, going along the back of the houses. The shed had only a simple wooden latch, and lop-sided hinges; he made sure it held in its partially open position. It offered an opportunity of being discovered, but better that than getting shut in.  
  
He felt around in the semi-darkness, glancing frequently and nervously at the door, and again at the ceiling. He found several baskets of dried vegetables, although he had no idea what they were. He grabbed two large handfuls, and scurried out the door and around to the side. Taking one more glance into the village, he sat down and began his feast. The food was tough and without a lot of taste, but after what he had been eating, it didn't matter.  
  
Finally satiated, he wiped his hands on his thighs and stood once more. He'd noticed various items of clothing hanging on ropes between the houses. With the heat of the season, he hadn't cared much about that, but the rainy season was coming. If he was lucky, he'd find something that would come close to fitting him.  
  
It also meant getting right up next to the houses.  
  
He moved along, again going behind the houses, moving to the front only when he saw something hanging on the lines that might fit him. Finally, he found a pair of trousers that could work, if he could find a rope of some sort to act as a belt. He started to move again to the back of the house when he caught a glimpse inside the house through an open window.  
  
The man was seated with his back to the window, smoking some kind of long pipe. The woman sat across from him, sewing. In the far corner, he could make out two small children sleeping. The family was illuminated by the soft glow of an old lamp. Face stood by the side of the window, mesmerized by the scene.  
  
He never heard the man come up behind him.  
  
He felt the first blow across his back and dropped like a rock to the ground. Instinctively, he rolled to the side, scrambling to his knees as the second swing just missed his head. His attacker started yelling and swung a third time, catching Face in the hip as he tried to get to his feet.  
  
By now the entire village was aroused, and Face half-crawled, half-ran to regain his footing. The precious trousers fell from his hand as he grabbed a railing by the house and hauled himself completely up. The villager got one more hit, a glancing blow off his shoulder, before he was able to turn the corner. He raced behind the houses, heading for the rice paddies and the safety of the hills beyond.  
  
His feet struck the water, and he sank into the muck up to his ankles. He forced his way across, listening as the villagers trailed closely behind him. They stopped at the edge of the paddies, apparently unwilling to cause further damage to their fledgling crops. That didn't stop them from throwing rocks and sticks at the intruder, stopping only when it was obvious he was beyond reach.  
  
Face, on the other hand, didn't stop. He slogged through the water and mud, up the bank and into the woods, up the hillside. Only when he was hidden in the deep woods did he fall to the ground. He crawled under some low-hanging branches, where he could see anyone coming after him, and promptly lost the precious meal. Exhausted, he nevertheless forced himself to sit up, waiting until he was sure no one was following. He slept badly, and was up long before the sun the next morning, ignoring the pain in his hip and back, the bruises from the thrown rocks, and moving higher up into the mountains.  
  
He would never again go near a village or farm.  
  
 **July 5 1973 - 2 Years, 5 Months, 3 Days**  
  
Murdock was rocking back and forth on the arm of the couch, feet planted firmly on the seat, one hand holding his belt and the other arm raised above his head. He told the nurses and orderlies he was practicing for the next rodeo, but mainly he was doing it because it pissed them off. He'd lost his grounds privileges yet again, and figured if he was annoying enough, they'd give them back.  
  
Childish, but then he was being treated like a child, so why not?  
  
He stopped when one of the nurses came into the day room and told him he had a visitor. He dropped his arm and frowned. He'd just talked to the damn MPs yesterday. And no one else visited. Despite Wiley's promise. Hannibal had only come three times, BA once, and Wiley twice more, in the three-plus months since that first visit.  
  
But then, it was probably just as well they didn't come any more often. Hannibal kept talking like the damn doctors, wanting to know what meds he was on, was he talking about 'things'. BA just kept telling him to quit fucking around and do what he was told, so he could get out sooner. Wiley was at least entertaining, telling Murdock about the jobs they were going on. Murdock wasn't sure about them getting involved with those mercenary types. He'd tried to talk to both Hannibal and BA about it, but Hannibal just got that Colonel look on his face and said not to worry about it, and BA...BA just stormed out and hadn't been back since.  
  
Well, Murdock had gotten a little preachy about it.  
  
"Captain? Your guest is waiting."  
  
Murdock glared at her, but got off the couch and followed her to the front desk. Another one of those things they'd started doing, making him meet people in a special visitor's room. He had a damn good suspicion it was because of the MPs, and probably another reason the guys hadn't been around the last couple of weeks.  
  
But even he was surprised when he got to the lobby and found a priest waiting for him.  
  
"Uh, sorry, Father, but...do I know you?"  
  
The priest, looking to be somewhere in his late fifties, smiled softly.  
  
"No, Captain Murdock, we've never met. I'm Father O'Malley. I'm here about a mutual acquaintance. Do you remember Templeton Peck?"  
  
Murdock couldn't help himself. "I'm nuts, Padre, not senile."  
  
"Captain..." The nurse frowned.  
  
"Sorry, Father. Uh, maybe we should talk in here." He moved to the small room reserved for visits from the clergy. They wouldn't be disturbed there, and Murdock knew he wanted this to be completely private.  
  
Murdock closed the door firmly behind them, glaring through the small window at the nurse, who blushed and headed back to the desk. Turning, he looked the priest over, noting that he didn't seem particularly worried about being alone in the room with a nutcase.  
  
"So how do you know...Templeton?"  
  
"I'm from Angel Guardians Orphanage."  
  
"Okay..."  
  
Father O'Malley looked a bit surprised. "That doesn't mean anything to you?"  
  
"Should it?" Murdock was getting a little impatient. Who was this guy, anyway?  
  
"Oh, dear." O'Malley sat down, and for the first time, Murdock noticed he was carrying a thin briefcase. "I'm afraid I've made an error." He looked up at Murdock, frowning. "You did serve with Templeton? He said you were the pilot for the, uh, team?"  
  
"That's right. Face was the XO."  
  
"Face? Ah, yes, yes. He mentioned the use of nicknames." O'Malley smiled softly, looking at the table, and then abruptly straightened. "I'm sorry, I do tend to...well, never mind. I was confused, because, in his letters, Templeton mentioned you many times. I got the impression that you were good friends."  
  
Murdock swallowed. "Uh, yeah, yeah, I guess you could say that."  
  
O'Malley looked puzzled. "He never mentioned the orphanage?"  
  
"No, sir, he didn't." Suddenly Murdock was suspicious. Did this guy expect to play on this friendship bit to get money out of Murdock? Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to scam a patient. "What did he do? Sponsor somebody there?"  
  
"Oh, no, no. He grew up there."  
  
Murdock stood up suddenly and walked to the window, looking out at the front yard. Face had never talked about his family. And, ashamed, Murdock realized he'd never really asked, either.  
  
"I'm sorry, Captain. I seem to have made assumptions that perhaps I shouldn't have. But I thought...well, as I said, his letters..."  
  
"No, Father, that's okay. Neither of us talked a lot about our families." Murdock returned to the table and sat. "So he wrote about me, huh?"  
  
"Yes, you, and Colonel Smith and the others. He seemed very happy on this team. Well, as happy as one can be in those circumstances." O'Malley looked uncomfortable for the first time.  
  
"Hey, don't worry, Padre. I'm not prone to suddenly flying off the wall at the mention of Nam." Not strictly the truth, but close enough. "So, uh, was there any special reason you decided to come visit?"  
  
"Oh, yes. Well, I received a letter from the Army a few weeks ago. I'm afraid they've, uh, officially declared him deceased."  
  
Murdock swallowed again. It wasn't unexpected, of course. He'd known Face was dead. Having it made official, though...  
  
"I received his effects the other day, and there were some things I thought he'd like you to have. Just some books, and a few pictures."  
  
"I'd love to have them, Father, if you don't mind."  
  
"Not at all. I, uh, I'd also like to ask a favor. I know about Colonel Smith, and so, obviously, I can't contact him, but...I'd really like to talk to someone about Templeton. What it was really like for him over there. I got the feeling that there were things he, well, glossed over in his letters." O'Malley once again stared at the table. "I guess I'm just trying to reassure myself."  
  
Murdock hesitated. The priest wouldn't want to know how Face had really lived over there. He wanted a fairy tale, to know that Face had been taken care of. That he'd been okay. Murdock smiled softly. "Sure, Father. I'll tell you all about our Faceman..."  
  
And start paying my debts.  
  
 **August 30 1973 - 2 Years, 6 Months, 28 Days**  
  
At the gunshot, he scrambled up the bank, rushing for the safety of the thicker woods. He left the knife he had shaped from a stone by the river, and dropped the spear, fish still stuck on the tip, as he wrestled his way up the hill. He couldn't hope to outrun them; his only chance was finding a place to hide. He was getting damn good at that.  
  
Minutes later, he was wedged under an overhanging rock, barely room enough to lift his head and watch for the soldiers. He concentrated on the view in front of him, forcing himself not to think about the close confines. He would be here for a while, knowing these guys never gave up easily. But if he kept his head, he could out-wait them, and then it wouldn't matter that he felt the rock slowly squeezing the breath out of him.  
  
He finally saw them, working their way up the hill. He slid back a little further, easy to do in the mud. It was one of the drawbacks of the rainy season's return. Fruit and other edible vegetation became bountiful, and fish were abundant, if he wasn't spotted, like today. At the same time, he spent a good deal of time cold and wet, and completely dry shelter was becoming a luxury he could rarely find. He slept in caves if he could find them, under thick underbrush if not.  
  
With the increasing boldness of the Pathet Lao and their compatriots from Hanoi, he found himself constantly on the move, constantly on guard. He stayed away from villages, farms, roads - being seen not only meant almost guaranteed attack by the residents but more often than not, a hunting party of soldiers soon after. He never made a camp, never built a fire, killed what he could when he could and ate on the spot.  
  
He no longer thought about Dao Quy. He'd long ago forgotten what she looked like, and knew she'd moved on to someone else. He no longer tried to reason out why Hannibal hadn't come back for him, or why he'd told the Army that Face was dead. He no longer thought about Murdock, Wiley, BA, or Ray. His life before Kyle and Harry was foggy at best. Now and again memories would surface, but he was never sure if they were real or imagined, and mainly they folded over into nightmarish combinations of the camp. He could control that, to some extent, except when the malaria kicked up. He was used to that. They'd all suffered with it in the camp. As long as he could find a safe place to hide while it ran its course, it made life only slightly more difficult than usual.  
  
He no longer knew or cared where he was, where he was going. He knew he'd wandered across the border into Cambodia a few times. He'd seen soldiers with a different uniform, wearing some kind of bluish scarf around their necks. He steered clear of them as well. In the end, wherever he ended up didn't matter. The Americans were long gone, and with them, any hope of salvation.  
  
He was alone, and he found he had developed a liking for it and the way of life he now had.  
  
After all, it wouldn't last forever. Only until Harry found him again.  
  
 **September 9 1973 - 2 Years, 7 Months, 7 Days**  
  
"Murdock..." Hannibal shook his head, mouth in a firm, straight line.  
  
"I know, Colonel. I don't try to get into trouble, y'know. They just have so damn many rules. Stupid rules."  
  
"I don't think not slugging the orderlies is a stupid rule, Murdock. You know what that would've gotten you in Nam."  
  
"They had orderlies in Nam?"  
  
"Murdock."  
  
"Okay, okay. But the guy was pissing me off. Kept saying stuff about you guys."  
  
"Sticks and stones, Captain. And I'm quite sure the satisfaction you got from slugging that slimeball doesn't quite make up for a lockdown. Not to mention getting Wiley all riled up when they wouldn't let him see you. That kind of thing can bring attention we don't need. And that makes it harder for us to get in here to see you. Why we had to stay away for a while."  
  
Murdock sighed. He really hadn't intended to slug the guy. Murdock wasn't going to tell Hannibal what had really been said. He knew it didn't bother the guys when they got all the bad publicity, but Face wasn't there to not care. Someone had to.  
  
"I had a visitor a couple months ago."  
  
"Not an MP?"  
  
"No. A priest."  
  
"Priest? What the hell for?"  
  
"Hannibal, did you know about Face and that orphanage?"  
  
Hannibal sat slowly back on the bench. "Yeah, it was in his file. Why?"  
  
"You never said anything."  
  
"It was his business, Murdock. So, what did this priest have to say?"  
  
"He said the Army had made it official. Brought me some stuff from his 'effects' that the Army sent him."  
  
"I see." Hannibal sat forward, stared down at the picnic table. Just like O'Malley had in the office.  
  
"Hannibal?"  
  
"Yeah, Murdock."  
  
"Why didn't you go back for him?"  
  
"Jesus, Murdock..." Hannibal stood suddenly, started pacing. "You think I don't ask myself that every day? But he was gone, and we had the PL on our tail. I would've if I could, but..."  
  
"How did you know he was dead?"  
  
"He went off a cliff, Murdock. Wiley saw him and that Russian guy go over. The kind of terrain we were in there's no way he could've made it."  
  
Murdock watched as Hannibal continued to pace, hesitant. Should he tell him? What good would that do? None. Just put Hannibal and the others through the same hell Murdock was in, thinking all the time, "if only", thinking about him being in that camp, the kind of shit he probably went through there, then dying trying to escape...and all the time, wondering why.  
  
"So, you guys been working again?" Not exactly a pleasant subject to change to, but the only one he could think of.  
  
"No, we're trying to steer clear of those knotheads for a while. Soldiers for hire aren't exactly the most trustworthy when there's a big reward in the offing, if you know what I mean."  
  
"Yeah, there's that."  
  
"No, we're branching out. Not disappearing so much as making ourselves less visible. Wiley got a gig as a late-night DJ."  
  
"Really? Cool!"  
  
"And BA..." Hannibal laughed out loud. "BA's working for a day care center in East LA. I couldn't believe that."  
  
"Well, he was always good with the kids. Remember when we'd go into town, they'd be following him all over?"  
  
"Yeah, and he'd be threatening to feed you your head for singing those lullabies."  
  
Murdock grinned. Those were the times he liked to remember.  
  
"And what about you?"  
  
"Well, I got a bit part in B movie. Just a couple days shooting, but some agent came up after and gave me his card. Said he might be able to get me a few more gigs like that."  
  
"Gigs? You're already sounding like a seasoned pro." Murdock chuckled.  
  
"Yeah, well, it keeps a roof over our heads." Hannibal smiled softly and returned to his seat. "Who knows? Maybe one day we'll be able to work our way out of this mess, and then I can have my name up in the spotlights."  
  
"I really wish I could do something, Hannibal."  
  
"You've got your own...issues right now. Worry about that."  
  
"You, uh, you know it was all a setup."  
  
"Oh, yeah. We kinda figured something was up when we were left high and dry after the robbery. Never thought they would go this route, though. If only Morrison was still around."  
  
Murdock swallowed. He'd thought long and hard about this, and he knew he had to come clean, at least with Hannibal. He'd never get better if he didn't.  
  
"About that, Colonel. I really, really feel bad about that."  
  
"Well, can't be helped."  
  
"No, I mean, Morrison dying. 'Cause, y'see, I was there that night."  
  
Hannibal frowned. "Murdock, you're a great pilot, but even you can't stop bombs from hitting the ground."  
  
"No, but I mean...it...it shouldn't have happened the way it did. And Morrison, well, he wasn't..."  
  
"Murdock, what are you saying?"  
  
Murdock bent his head, holding it tightly in his hands. "I was there, Hannibal. With him, when he died, and..."  
  
"My God, Murdock." Hannibal sat ramrod straight. "Why didn't you say something? Jesus, you were with him? You're lucky you weren't killed as well!"  
  
"That's not it, Colonel. Please, I..."  
  
"Hey, it's all right, Murdock. I think I understand now. I mean, why you ended up in here. That's a hell of a thing to witness. Especially a guy like Morrison."  
  
"Hannibal, he wasn't the guy you thought he was. That's why..." Murdock stopped. This was so hard.  
  
"Murdock, what do you mean?"  
  
"Hannibal, I was only trying to help. That's why I went to see Morrison that night. I just...I just wanted to help."  
  
"Murdock...?"  
  
"I didn't mean for it to happen. I just..."  
  
"Excuse me, gentlemen, but I'm afraid it's time for the captain's session with his doctor. You can come back tomorrow, if you'd like."  
  
"Okay, nurse. Just give us a moment, please."  
  
The nurse frowned but stepped away. Not too far.  
  
Hannibal turned back to the pilot, who sat silent, pale and sweating. Damn. He should know better than to bring up any of that stuff. No telling what effect it could have on the man. Especially now that he knew...  
  
"It's okay, Murdock. Whatever Morrison was, it doesn't matter now. Nobody was perfect back then. You just forget all that. It's over and done."  
  
"Right, Hannibal. Right..."  
  
Hannibal watched as Murdock walked slowly away with the nurse. Something wasn't right.  
  
Something he was missing.


	31. Chapter 31

**October 16 1973 - 2 Years, 8 Months, 14 Days**  
  
He had no idea exactly where he was, only that he did not want to be there anymore. He knew it must be Cambodia, only because of the soldiers following him. Dogging him.  
  
Herding him.  
  
He'd tried to head back into the mountains and had been cut off each and every time. He didn't think there were that many of them at first. It was just a patrol that spotted him, but it kept growing from there. Maybe a platoon by now. Maybe more. The numbers just kept growing. He didn't know where they were coming from. He just knew they wanted him moving in one direction, and that's where he was going.  
  
They didn't seem to be in any hurry, but they knew when he tried to double-back, and were there, waiting. They never got really close, not close enough to shoot, not even close enough to see clearly. More like shadows. Ghosts. Only getting close enough so he could see them coming.  
  
Knew they were coming.  
  
The last four days he'd been moving through farmland. Flat, wet. Little cover from the rain, from the soldiers, from the farmers. Farmers who'd had their fields, homes, families destroyed by American bombs. Farmers who were more than happy to help the soldiers hunt for this American.  
  
He moved now into yet another rice paddy, both using and cursing the light of the nearly full moon. Smiled mirthlessly at the irony of his body being browned to the point it was nearly indistinguishable from the natives, his hair bleached so it stood out like a beacon. Not for the first time, he ducked his head into the muddy waters of the paddy, bringing up the mud with his hands to coat his hair and beard.  
  
He got across the first paddy and was crawling over the dike separating it from the next when he heard the first shouts. Throwing caution aside, he ran along the dike, praying he wouldn't run into any mines. He came to the corner of the dikes, looked back.  
  
Damn.  
  
Looked like the whole village was coming - how could that many people live such a tiny place? There were a hell of a lot of those damn scarves among them, too. How could they catch up so quickly? He turned back and continued running, ignoring the shots that, so far, were wide of the mark. Once they realized he wasn't stopping, they'd get closer.  
  
He ran into a small stand of trees, bouncing off one and struggling to keep his balance. He came out of the trees, into another series of paddies. Sloshing straight across them, his only thought, his only instinct, to keep running. His breath was coming hard now, and his ribs and legs were aching. He didn't even see the last dike, fell over it and landed, half-submerged, in the next paddy. For a moment, only a moment, he thought of just staying there, letting them catch up.  
  
Then he thought of Harry, standing over him.  
  
He pulled himself up, staggered through the rice, up and out and the ground sloped upward, he saw shadows ahead moving in the woods, up the hill, paralleling his course, moving ahead of him. Had they flown over that field? He kept going, kept pushing, kept moving up and into more trees, ignored the shots coming at him, the shouts.  
  
He hit a small patch of ground clear of trees and with his last bit of energy, sprinted across, eyeing the woods he could see in the distance. He could make that. He would make that.  
  
Then he was free falling, nothing but darkness above and below. He hit the fast-flowing water nearly headfirst, feeling the impact with his shoulder and side, was swept under, dragged along with the current. He fought his way to the surface and flailed about, all of his energy, all of his concentration on keeping his head above the floodwater.  
  
He was suddenly shoved up on the shore, the sand and rocks scraping painfully along his body.  
  
And there he stayed, no longer caring who was coming for him.  
  
*****  
  
Trung moved his men further north. He was irritated, not an unusual occurrence. The war was going badly, and he, along with many other ARVN, felt an almost overwhelming feeling of betrayal by the Americans. Now he and his men were supposedly protecting the border, when in reality they knew they were only postponing the inevitable. Combined with the pouring rain, insidious mud and the fatigue of coming off night patrol, and his temper was more than ready for an outlet.  
  
They were maybe a half-mile from the river, about to turn east toward Ton Son Nhut Airport, when they spotted movement across the field, coming from the river. Knowing the NVA were moving their troops into the area in small groups, Trung immediately spread out his patrol and moved to intercept.  
  
It took several minutes to get within striking distance. Trung could see a figure moving stealthily through the thickets, and was about to call for him to stop when suddenly the figure straightened and began running back toward the river. Trung didn't have to shout any orders; his men immediately fired and then gave chase.  
  
It was over in a matter of minutes.  
  
Trung walked up to his men and the still struggling prisoner. He was shocked to see it was an American. His shock turned almost immediately to disgust. The only Americans left were either connected with the Embassy or deserters, unable to evacuate. It was obvious to Trung that this was one of the deserters, strung out on drugs and living out in the bush like some animal. His lip curled as he issued the order to restrain the prisoner.  
  
Some forty minutes later, much of which had been wasted struggling with the deserter, they arrived at their camp. Trung commandeered one of the Jeeps, and with three of his men, shoved the prisoner onto the floor in the back. Trung drove while his men kept their feet firmly planted on the man, keeping him down.  
  
The sun was fully up by the time they pulled up outside the American Embassy.  
  
*****  
  
He realized his mistake as soon as he heard them coming. Instead of arriving on the other side, he'd merely been driven further downriver. Instead of finding sanctuary in the far woods, he'd run right into their ambush. He turned and started running back for the river, but it was too late. They fired at him, this time not trying to miss. He felt the harsh sting in his arm but doggedly kept going. And then they seemed to rise up from every direction, coming at him, shadows turning solid. He fought with every bit of strength he had, but almost immediately found himself flat on the ground, several of them holding him down. Face kept struggling until he saw him.  
  
The faint light from the sun kept him in silhouette, but he recognized him anyway. The same stance, the same swagger, the same anger and contempt in his voice.  
  
Harry.  
  
He spoke in Vietnamese. Face knew he should understand what was said, but it sounded blurred, fuzzy. It made no sense. His hands were tied behind his back, and he was pulled up. The familiar march began, a man on either side pulling and tugging, dragging when he slipped.  
  
By the time they reached the camp, Face hardly realized he was walking at all. The men holding his arms never loosened their hold, and he caught glimpses of smirks from the other soldiers. Suddenly he was shoved forward, lifted and dropped into the back of a Jeep, feet on his back and legs holding him in place.  
  
It was a long and uncomfortable ride to wherever they were going, and if he shifted at all he felt a boot slam into his body. He'd forgotten how badly that hurt. The Jeep suddenly swung around, and his head slammed into the side, his body sliding across the rough floor as they came to an abrupt halt.  
  
He could hear two men talking and then he was grabbed by the arms and pulled roughly out of the Jeep. He blinked at the sun in his eyes before he was dragged forward. He looked up, groggy, and saw the new soldier in front of him.  
  
He heard the voice, but the words didn't register. Only that uniform. That Marine uniform. The voice got louder, and Face saw the baseball bat. Swinging. In his hands. His hands. Someone grabbed the dog tags, jerking them from his neck. He just saw the uniform. Covered in blood. Getting smaller and smaller as the noise from the chopper got louder and louder...  
  
*****  
  
Sergeant Dominick tensed as the Jeep came rolling up in front of the Embassy. Things had been pretty quiet until recently, and then all the action had been further north. Still...  
  
As soon as the Jeep pulled to a halt, he relaxed. That jerk off, Trung. He spent a lot of time around the Embassy, kissing ass, hoping for favors later on, no doubt. This time he seemed pretty excited though.  
  
He glanced over at his partner, rolling his eyes. The other sergeant just grinned as Dominick walked over to the Jeep. Both men jumped when the three ARVN in the back suddenly started pulling at something on the floor. Next thing they knew, the four Vietnamese were standing there with a filthy, bleeding American between them.  
  
Naked.  
  
"Good Jesus, Trung, what've you done now?" Dominick rushed forward, but Trung intercepted him.  
  
"This man deserter, Sarge. Deserter! We caught over by river, he fight us, try to run. See - deserter!"  
  
The man looked up at Dominick, and his gaze fastened on Dominick's chest.  
  
"Hey, buddy, who are you? What happened to you? Hey, hey, I'm talking to you, man. Listen up."  
  
Dominick stood back. Man, this guy was blown away big time.  
  
"See, Sarge? He not spose to be here now. Deserter only."  
  
Dominick cast a glaring glance at Trung, shutting him up. The guy had to be military; he had dog tags. Dom's eyes narrowed. He had a lot of dog tags. He reached over, yanked the chain from the guy's neck, not wanting to get any closer.  
  
He looked over the tags - three different sets, all right. Three different names. Dammit. He looked at the dregs standing in front of him and looked back at his partner.  
  
"Hey, Joe. Call Neil Bursey, get him down here. I'm gonna put this guy on ice till we figure this shit out."  
  
Unlocking the gates, he led the ARVNs inside, dragging their prisoner with them. Dom stopped at the door to a small storage room off to the side. It would do for now. Tossing a set of handcuffs to Trung, he searched for the key to the door. He glanced up when the guy started jerking around, but he was just fighting the cuffs. Shaking his head, he unlocked the door and swung it open. The now-cuffed prisoner was shoved inside, and he slammed the door shut, locking it.  
  
Dom moved Trung and his cohorts back, still holding the illicit dog tags, ignoring the pounding from the storage room. They'd wait outside the gate, let the freak cool off before he talked to the head of security.  
  
*****  
  
He saw the door open just before the shove. He stumbled to the floor, landing hard on his knees, before falling to a sit. He looked up just in time to see the door slam shut.  
  
In a split second, he was up, running at the door, slamming his shoulder against it, again and again and again. The door didn't even shudder. He slid down to the floor, trying to look through the narrow crack between the door and frame. Breathing hard, he looked around the storage room. Shelves, mostly empty. A couple buckets off to the side. A single light hanging from the ceiling.  
  
He had to get out.  
  
He had to get away.  
  
*****  
  
Neil Bursey had only been at the Embassy for about six months, but it wasn't his first time in-country. He'd been with the Combined Action Platoons in I-Corp back in '67, and again in '69 before moving to the civilian arena and eventually ending up in the diplomatic corps. He got along well the Marine Embassy Guards, and even with the civilian personnel. When you were head of security, you had to.  
  
Now he headed across the compound, impatient, unhappy. He had no sympathy for deserters and preferred to ignore their existence. Unfortunately, having one dumped on his doorstep meant not only finding out who he was and where he belonged, but getting him there. And that meant dealing with the military bureaucracy - which at this point in time, could mean talking to a dozen different pencil pushers in as many different locations.  
  
"Okay, Dom, what have you got for me?"  
  
Dominick gave him a quick rundown of events, with Trung interrupting every few sentences, and then handed over the dog tags. Bursey frowned.  
  
"Do any of these belong to this guy, or was he just collecting them?"  
  
"Don't know, Sir. He was too spaced out to say anything."  
  
"Where is he now?"  
  
"Locked in the storage room. Not real happy about it, but he ain't...isn't going anywhere."  
  
"All right. I'll see what I can find out on these tags." Bursey turned, staring at the tags.  
  
"Uh, Sir? What should we do with him?"  
  
"Leave him where he is for now. At least then I'll know where to find him."  
  
Bursey walked back across the compound. He heard a thump from the storage area, ignored it.  
  
There was nothing in there to damage anyway.  
  
*****  
  
He'd rest for a while, then push himself up, stagger a few feet and take another run at it. But it wouldn't budge. Not even a little. Then he'd move around the room, bumping into the shelves, looking for something, anything, to break him free, but there was nothing. So he'd go back to ramming the door.  
  
He'd just jarred himself dizzy when he heard that voice outside the door. Harsh, angry. He knew that tone. He ran to the far end of the room, between the shelves, trying to hide in the shadows. Watched as the door swung out, open.  
  
The Marine. He stepped inside, and Face could see another one behind him, baton loose in his hand.  
  
So this was it.  
  
The first one glared at him, shaking his head, and put a plate down on the floor. Face could smell the food, recognized it. The smell of pork. He felt sick to his stomach.  
  
"You eat that, freak. And then put these on. And quit pounding on the fucking door. You're not going anywhere just yet. Got it?"  
  
The door slammed shut once more, and Face slid down the wall to the floor. He stared at the plate, and the pajama bottoms on the floor. Looked up at the walls, watching as they crept ever closer.  
  
*****  
  
Neil Bursey came back to the Embassy after lunch, anxious to see if he'd gotten an answer from the Army yet. He passed the storage room without a glance. He'd see if he could find some place more comfortable for him until it was decided what to do with him. Undoubtedly he'd be put on the next transport to face a courts martial Stateside.  
  
He glanced through the stack of reports his secretary handed him and continued on to his office. Most concerned the evacuation plans for Cambodia; he'd look through those later. Then he found the one he'd been waiting for, the Army's response to his inquiry on those dog tags.  
  
He got a nasty lump in his stomach as he started reading. All three men in a POW camp in Laos; one escaped, now discharged; one dead; the third...  
  
Bursey stared at the last one. He didn't believe in coincidences. No way this guy would have all three dog tags unless...  
  
He hurried out of the office, yelling at his secretary to have Sergeant Dominick meet him in the yard, and raced down the stairs and out the door. He was waiting impatiently at the door when Dom came rushing up.  
  
"Open it up! Now!"  
  
"Sir?" Dom was fumbling with the keys.  
  
"He's not a deserter. He was a prisoner of war. Must have escaped. Hurry up, man!"  
  
The door swung open, and Bursey looked at a scene of chaos. A plate of food was upside down on the floor, with some kind of cloth nearly covering it. The shelving units had been tipped over, contents scattered, and were now laying end to end forming a cross. The prisoner sat against the far wall, feet pushing against one set of shelves as if holding it in place. He sat still as stone, staring right through them.  
  
It was the first time Bursey had actually seen the man, and he was shocked. Naked, filthy, hair and beard tangled and matted, body bruised and scarred. Bursey felt sick. He stepped forward, and the man immediately scrambled to a crouch. Bursey saw the handcuffs and shuddered at what that must have felt like.  
  
"Sergeant Hanson?"  
  
The man continued to stare at him, eyes wide.  
  
"Sergeant Kyle Hanson?" Bursey stepped closer, slowly. "My name is Neil Bursey. You're at the American Embassy, in Saigon. You're safe now, Kyle. We're going to get you home."  
  
Dominick had followed Bursey inside the room, leaving the door open. Now he stepped to the side, slowly as Bursey had.  
  
"Kyle? Do you understand? You're free now."  
  
It took a split second. From immobile to a streak of lightning, Face was headed for the open door. Only Dominick's quick reflexes prevented his escape.  
  
Bursey watched in horror as the former POW fought like an animal to get away. At a nod from Dominick, he slipped out the door himself, and a moment later, Dom followed, once again slamming the door shut.  
  
The thudding started almost immediately.  
  
The two men looked at each other, and Bursey shook his head.  
  
"Wait here. I'll go call the doc."  
  
 **October 20 1973 - 2 Years, 8 Months, 18 Days**  
  
Bursey stepped out of the truck when it pulled to a stop beside the transport plane at Ton Son Nhut. He walked slowly to the back, watching as the Marines gently pulled the gurney out. Sergeant Hanson was strapped tightly to it, and even though he'd been sedated, he still struggled. Bursey watched sadly as the gurney was carried clumsily up the stairway and into the plane. He felt desperately sorry for the man, but he also felt a deep sense of relief at seeing him leave. Every day they'd been waiting for the Army to make up its mind what to do with him had been a nightmare. Just getting the man cleaned up had taken three men, none of them happy about it. Bursey hadn't been allowed to send him to the Saigon hospital; the fact that he'd been in Laos created all kinds of political problems, problems the government didn't want getting out to the public just now. So he'd been confined to a room in the Embassy, and after he'd tried to leap through the window, they'd been forced to keep him restrained to the bed. He wouldn't eat anything they cooked for him, not voluntarily. And he would not talk.  
  
Bursey woke from his thoughts as the Marines shoved the now empty gurney back into the truck and climbed aboard. Well, maybe once the guy got Stateside, to that hospital near Mobile, he'd work things out.  
  
It was going to be a long trip.  
  
 **FINI**


End file.
